The Unquiet Bones
by TinDog
Summary: What's in the past does not always stay there. Nancy and Joe investigate a case which brings local and personal history face-to-face with the present.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: In the Dark

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 _I am not going to die here._

She had already paced the perimeter of her prison so many times she could do it with her eyes closed. She made another circuit of the room anyway, eyes wide open, straining in the dim light filtering in through a long crack in the wooden doors overhead to scan and analyze every inch of the place. There was not much to see: blank earthen walls, steep wooden steps, all of it currently visible only in the sepia tones of old film.

"Once you've seen one root cellar, you've seen them all," she murmured aloud. "I knew I shouldn't have signed up for this tour."

The flippant words rang hollow.

With a sigh, she sat down on the bottom step to rest, to rub her bruised shoulder, and to consider her options.

 _I could spend another hour or two throwing myself against the doors. Or I could start digging. Or I could sit here and scream for help._

She took a shaky breath. None of those options were much comfort.

 _There's always a way out. I am not going to die here._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Beginning

 _I can't believe I'm already on my fourth story in this series! It's been so much fun writing these. Many thanks to Drumboy100, BMSH, PJandLGequalsLove, sm2003495, Jilsen, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, and Evergreen Dreamweaver for the reviews on the first chapter- as always, it's a big encouragement to hear that people are enjoying the story._  
 _One last note, before we get into the story: the rating is quite likely going to go up from a T to an M after the first few chapters. Joe and Nancy don't like to behave. :) I'll try to give you a heads up a chapter or two before that happens. - TinDog_

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"Over here, Nancy!"

Nancy Drew stepped up onto the awning-shaded patio of the local coffee shop. She was slightly surprised to see that her father's wife had already arrived. Camille Bradley had made a point of meeting up with Nancy at least once a month since her engagement to Carson Drew the previous November; and while Nancy appreciated Camille's gracious and sincere effort to get to know her, she had also learned to be realistic about the fact that Camille's demanding work schedule often led to delays and rainchecks.

"Good morning, Camille," she called, . "I hope I haven't kept you waiting long."

Camille glanced down at the surface of her table, taking in the two paper-sleeved coffee cups and the array of paperwork there as though seeing them for the first time. "Not at all," she said, rising politely. "I arrived earlier than I'd planned to, since I didn't have to stay long at the office today."

Her kiss landed near Nancy's cheek rather than on it, but her brief hug felt sincere. Stepping away, Nancy glanced again at the documents spread across the table, then at Camille's sleek hairstyle and tailored outfit. The older woman looked polished and professional, as always.

"That's right!" Nancy said, smiling. "You're supposed to be on vacation!"

"I am. Starting...now." Camille gathered her papers together and pushed the folder into her bag as she spoke. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with a conspiratorial twinkle. "Don't tell your dad. He already thinks I work too hard. But I knew I wouldn't be able to enjoy my time off with that last bit of work hanging over my head."

"Yes, I would feel the same way. And so would Dad, so he has no room to complain."

"As you know, Carson's motto might as well be 'do as I say, not as I do,' " Camille said dryly. She reached for the cup nearest her and took a sip, gesturing toward the second cup with her free hand.

"That one is for you, Nance. I thought I'd save you the trouble of waiting in line, since I was there already."

"How thoughtful! Thank you," Nancy exclaimed, quelling her slight annoyance. Though she really would have preferred to order her own drink, the gesture had been a kind one; and anyway, every vestige of her irritation washed away in the bliss of that first sip of strong coffee.

"You look as though you needed that," Camille observed.

"Our coffeemaker at the apartment has been broken since Wednesday," Nancy said, hoping the short explanation did not sound curt. As much as she liked Camille, she did not feel comfortable enough yet to give her the long explanation, which involved a summer-long struggle with intense dreams and broken sleep cycles.

"I thought your man could fix anything," Camille remarked.

Nancy shook her head, laughing. "This one was a dinosaur. It was a hand-me-down from the 80s that Laura passed on to Frank years ago, when he got his first college apartment. We decided that it deserves to rest in peace and we deserve a newer model." She took another grateful sip and leaned forward, changing conversational gears.

"Tell me more about this vacation. Dad said you're heading up to Vermont for the week?"

"Ten days, actually. We're driving up to Massachusetts tomorrow to hear the Boston Symphony Orchestra perform at Tanglewood, and then on Sunday we'll finish the drive up to Steph and Connor's in Vermont."

Camille extracted her phone from her purse as she spoke, swiped at the screen, and pushed it across the table toward Nancy. "Here's the latest picture of Jacob. Can you believe he's already six weeks old?"

"He looks just like Stephanie!" Nancy said, studying the picture. She had met Camille's daughter only once, at her father and Camille's private wedding ceremony in April; but the baby's resemblance to his mother was unmistakable.

"He's the spitting image of Steph's old baby pictures. I think he has Connor's wavy hair, though," Camille said.

"You must be so excited to meet him."

"I can't wait. I must confess, though, that part of me still can't believe I'm a grandmother," Camille said, laughing ruefully. "And can you picture your dad as a grandpa?"

Nancy looked steadily down at the photo, hoping to conceal the emotion in her eyes. The trouble was that she could picture her father as a doting grandparent. The reserved and often formal lawyer had a playful side which children always coaxed out of hiding. His adoration of children was one of the things that had made Nancy's motherless childhood so pleasant. And now he was about to spend his whole vacation bonding with a child who was not even a blood relative.

 _Be fair,_ Nancy chastised herself. _Of course his life is expanding from what it was, and expanding away from mine. I'm an adult, and he's remarried, and it's normal. You're not five anymore. You can't expect to be his whole world._

"Dad always has been good with babies," she said finally, sliding the phone back to Camille. "I'm so glad you were able to get the time off work. You're going to love every minute with Jacob."

"Maybe not every minute," Camille mused. "It's been a few decades since I had my own babies, but I do remember a lot of crying." She reached for her coffee cup. "It's going to be good, though. And I'm really looking forward to spending some uninterrupted time with Carson. He's been out of town so much lately, we've been like ships in the night."

"I know the feeling," Nancy said sympathetically.

"Of course. You and Joe must experience the same thing. Has it changed, though, since you began working together?"

"We still have to split up frequently to investigate different angles. But on the whole, since our schedules are synced up to the same case now, we have been able to spend more time together."

Camille nodded thoughtfully. Nancy sipped her coffee. She was never sure yet, with Camille, whether lulls in the conversation were awkward or peaceful. But it was a beautiful day, and she took advantage of the quiet moment to sit back and observe the meditative pulse of a small town waking and beginning the simple routines of daily life, a pulse which was enlivened today by a bright undercurrent of anticipation for the coming weekend. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the street. Nancy quickly became engrossed in watching the faces of the people passing by, analyzing faces and clothing and body language, and was almost startled when Camille spoke again.

"I've lived out here for four years and I still can't get over how peaceful it is here."

"Peaceful?" Nancy echoed, raising an eyebrow as if to remind her companion that she was a lawyer, and that Nancy was a detective, and that they were both more than familiar with the less peaceful elements of life in River Heights and the surrounding towns.

"Comparatively, yes. I was born and raised in Brooklyn," Camille explained.

Nancy looked around again, trying to see the town through Camille's eyes. The rhythm of River Heights was slow, compared to that of a big city, but Nancy had done enough traveling and been in enough danger to appreciate being able to come home to a place like this. One of her favorite things about the neighboring town of Bayport, where she now lived, was that it offered the same sense of calm security.

Something she had read about recently pricked at her memory. "What about the Langley case?" she said. "You can't call that peaceful." When Camille looked blank, Nancy added "The remains those hikers found over at Stoney Point last week. They've been identified as belonging to Elizabeth Langley, one of- "

"Yes, I remember now! She was one of those poor girls who went missing from Camp Sunshine back in the 70s." Camille shook her head. "I remember when it actually happened, you know. It made the national news. My sister and I used to sneak downstairs to watch the news reports about it. My mother tried to shield us from hearing but we were, like most children, ravenous for all the forbidden details."

"I wouldn't have imagined you as a rebellious child," Nancy remarked.

Camille chuckled. "My sister was the rebellious one. I simply followed her lead. I have to say I'm shocked that any of the victims have resurfaced after all this time. Do you think this means that all the girls were killed?"

"My hunch is that they were," Nancy said somberly. "The logistics of keeping multiple captives alive and hidden for decades would be overwhelming. Someone would have seen something."

"A serial killer, then," Camille said. "Or...I hate to say it, but a sex trafficker?"

Though Nancy had seen more than her fair share of horrible crimes, she shuddered. "I hope not. Those poor girls."

"Do you have any mysteries of your own on the horizon?" Camille asked.

"No, not a single one."

"What will you do with yourself? Do you even remember how to have a normal weekend?" Camille teased.

"It's going to be tough," Nancy teased back. "Buying a new coffeemaker is on the list. And we're going over to Frank and Callie's for dinner tonight."

"I'm guessing Callie hasn't had the baby yet?" Camille said, waiting for Nancy's confirming head shake before adding "How is she feeling? I remember that stage. You're tired, you're enormous, you're impatient..."

"Oh, Callie makes it look easy."

"You and Joe aren't thinking of starting a family soon, are you?"

The question was inevitable. Nancy forced herself to let the tension drain from her muscles. "We're not even engaged!" she demurred. "Dad would have a coronary!"

Camille laughed. "Don't worry about Carson. He thinks you walk on water."

"I'm not inclined to put that to the test," Nancy said dryly. "He was uncomfortable enough when Joe and I started living together."

"Nancy, you know I don't believe in giving unsolicited advice- but I'm going to break my own rule for a minute, so please forgive me. When I was young, I wanted to please my parents. I very obediently did the things which were expected of me, in the right order. I got good grades, I went to college and law school, I got married, and I started having babies. But it was a mistake, and when it all fell apart it was very ugly. I love Steph and David with all my heart, but they are the only good that ever came of that marriage. What I'm trying to say is that you should follow your own timing on these matters, and to hell with what other people expect." Before Nancy could make any kind of response Camille uncrossed her legs and reached for her purse. "I've just had an idea," she said briskly. "I tried on last year's bathing suit last night, and it was not pretty. I was planning to head over to Tuttle's. Why don't you ride over with me and pick up your coffeemaker while I choose a bathing suit, and then I can drop you off back here at your car?"

"That sounds good to me," Nancy said, collecting their empty cups for disposal.

The local department store, Tuttle's, was located in a shopping plaza a few minutes' drive away, flanked by a pet supply shop, Vixen Lingerie, and a newly-opened Dunkin Donuts. Despite being a small business rather than a chain store, Tuttle's had an excellent selection of clothing and home goods. Nancy selected and purchased a new coffeemaker and even had time to slip next door to take advantage of a tempting sale at the lingerie store before Camille had finished browsing her way through the swimwear department.

"I see you had a productive time," Camille said, glancing at Nancy's shopping bags as they walked back to the car.

"That sale was too good to pass up. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, they had exactly the style I was hoping to find."

The return trip passed quickly. A few minutes later Nancy stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.

"Thanks again for the coffee," she called. "Tell Dad I said hi, and have a safe trip!"

"You're very welcome. We'll get together again soon!" Camille called back, pulling away from the curb.

Nancy paused to fish her car keys out of her purse before stepping out into the parking lot. The sun was almost directly overhead now, and she had forgotten her sunglasses; but when she squinted she could see someone tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered leaning against her little blue roadster.

 _What's Frank doing here?_ she wondered, quickening her pace. _Is Callie in labor? No, he would have called. He must have just been passing by and stopped to say hi._

Several yards away from her car, Nancy stopped. A jolt of adrenaline flooded her body. The waiting man was not Frank. Moving on autopilot, Nancy curled her hand into a fist, tucking her car key securely between her fingers, and continued her approach: stealthily, now, moving lightly and clenching her toes to keep her sandals from slapping against the pavement.

The man turned around.

"Ned!" Nancy exclaimed in mingled alarm and relief. _What is he doing here?_ Though Ned was still on good terms with Frank and civil terms with Joe, he certainly never went out of his way to approach Nancy.

"Nancy." Ned straightened up, took a step forward, and paused, his gaze turning wary.

"Oh," Nancy said softly. She opened her fist and loosened her grip on her keys. "You startled me. What are you doing here?"

He made no answer. Nancy shuffled the lingerie store's distinctive silver bag behind the more innocuous Tuttle's bag, adjusted the strap of her purse, and waited. People always talked, if you gave them enough time; and Ned was no exception. After a few moments, during which he appeared to be struggling with his conscience, he blurted out what was on his mind.

"I proposed to Emily last night."

"Congratulations," Nancy said carefully. She knew this man, knew the boy he had been, and something was clearly wrong. His words might suggest a joyful occasion, but his face and body radiated shame and tension.

"Thanks," he said dully. "She said yes. We're going to get married."

"That's wonderful news," Nancy said gently. "I know how happy she makes you."

Ned looked up and made eye contact with her for the first time. His face was haggard. "I do love her," he said helplessly. "But after she said yes...god. I couldn't sleep last night. I just kept thinking about you."

"Don't do this," Nancy pleaded.

"I have to. I know this is probably the shittiest thing I've ever done, and she deserves better, but I have to tell you this before it's too late."

 _The shittiest thing I've ever done._ The phrase echoed, discordant and ugly, in Nancy's ears. Ned had always prided himself on not resorting to four-letter words to express his feelings. That lapse, more than anything else, drove home how miserable he was feeling.

"Maybe we just got our timing wrong," he said, his voice low. "There was always something wild about you, Nancy. You made me feel like I could be a more exciting version of Ned Nickerson. I miss that. I know I blew it, last time, but now I think I could be the kind of man you need, if you'd give me another chance."

"No, Ned. I can't do that." Nancy put as much kindness as she could into her tone, but her words were decisive, surgical. She felt the scalpel-edge of them drag along her own old and healed wounds and felt a pang for the pain Ned was feeling, too.

"Just like that? No?"

"You know it's the right answer," she said, wishing her voice would not shake. "I'm sorry." And she was. She was sorry to hurt him, and she was sorry for herself too, because their tenuously-budding friendship was lost to her now. Ned was good and kind, sweet and funny and brave; their relationship may have ended, but she had always respected him as a person.

 _Poor Ned. Poor Emily. Poor Nancy._

Nancy softened her voice again. "Go home to Emily. Remember all the reasons you fell in love with her, and be happy."

Still he hesitated, looking at her. He swallowed hard, seemingly about to speak; but in the end he simply turned and walked away.

When he was gone Nancy got into her car, locked the doors, and bent her head over the steering wheel to hide her tears.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: New Developments

 _Heartfelt thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed, and even followed/favorited. You make me smile!_

A moment was all Nancy needed to indulge her rumpled feelings. She had already regained control and sat up when her phone began to ring.

"Now what?" she muttered impatiently, narrowing her eyes at the screen. The name on the display surprised her out of her impatience.

"Han Solo calling? Seriously, this has- oh, hi, Joe. I liked the last one better."

"You'd rather get calls from Bob Ross than Han Solo? Suddenly I'm doubting your taste in men."

"The heart wants what it wants," Nancy said with mock solemnity. She could hear the smile in her boyfriend's voice, and her mood was already lifting in response. "And what my heart wants, currently, is to change my passcode so you can't save your number under ridiculous names anymore. Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Nope, I'm a free man. He collected our final papers and let us go early."

"Until the fall semester starts, anyway," Nancy said, using the hem of her blouse to blot a stray tear off her steering wheel.

"You had to remind me. I just want to be done with this."

"You'll get there." Nancy dropped her teasing tone. Joe had only enrolled in that summer course out of impatience; he tended to be hard on himself for not having completed his degree years ago. "I'm proud of you," she added.

"Thanks," Joe said, a bit gruffly.

Nancy waited a beat. When he did not immediately speak, she jumped in. "So, what's up? I assume you weren't just calling to gloat about finishing your class."

"You're right. You'll be home this afternoon, right?"

"Yes. Why? Is it a case?"

"Maybe. I just got off the phone with a potential client." Joe hesitated again. "I'll be home around three. I think we need to discuss this one in person."

Involuntarily, Nancy hissed a very unladylike word.

Joe laughed. "I'm sorry, Nan. I promised Chet we'd work out this afternoon. I'd blow it off if I could, but I cancelled on him last time, and he's gonna start feeling unloved."

"He's going to feel unloved? What about me?" Nancy demanded, only half-joking. "I'm going to spend the next few hours going crazy wondering what this is about."

"I'm sorry," Joe repeated. "I should have waited to tell you. I just- I wanted to hear your voice." Then he brightened again. "Hey. If you do actually die of curiosity, do I inherit your car?"

"Not a chance. I'm going straight to Dad's office to get my will changed," Nancy retorted.

"Okay, I guess I deserve that," Joe said. "I'll see you in a couple hours?"

"I'll be there."

"I love you."

"I know," Nancy shot back, in her best Han Solo impersonation.

Joe laughed, delighted. "Hey, that's my line!"

"I couldn't resist."

There was a pause. Then, "Nan?" Joe said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Don't get too excited about the case. I'm not sure you're going to like it," he said. Something in his tone implied that he was not sure he liked it, either.

"Now I'm even more curious. This had better be a quick workout, Hardy."

"I'll do my best, Drew. See you soon."

Nancy sighed as she lowered the phone. Though she understood Joe's impulse to tell her immediately, and probably would have done the same had their roles been reversed, the resulting anticipation was going to make the next few hours unbearable.

The solution presented itself, as solutions so often did, in a swift flash of insight: _George. George will have work for me._ Nancy had her car started and was navigating across River Heights toward her friend's martial arts studio almost before her conscious mind caught up with the decision.

George's new studio location had a much nicer parking lot than her old place had. Nancy parked her roadster beside George's familiar battered Jeep and let herself into the building, pausing to inhale the fresh scents of new paint, cardboard, and whatever cleaning agent had been used on the wood floors. She had not seen the place since she and a group of friends had helped George unload her U-Haul on Tuesday. Already, George's signature streamlined style was beginning to emerge from the clutter of moving boxes.

"Hello!" Nancy called, peering into rooms as she moved along the corridor.

"In here!" George yelled back. "Come on back."

"Back" turned out to be one of the spacious, sunny classrooms. Nancy peeked in and found George on her yoga mat, doing a headstand, the stillness of her body and the serenity on her face almost jarringly at odds with the raucous music playing over the room's speakers.

"Hey, Nance." She dropped lightly out of the pose and stood up, lean and long-legged in tight black yoga pants and a neon green tank top.

"Hi," Nancy said, stepping over the threshold. She made a face. "What are you listening to?"

George shrugged. "Just an old CD I found when I was unpacking. What brings you to my lair?"

"I was hoping you'd put me to work, actually. Can I unpack boxes? Wash dishes? File paperwork?"

"You need a distraction," George said, nodding her understanding.

"Desperately."

"Sorry, Nance. This is my distraction right now. It really does help."

Nancy set her purse on the floor and kicked off her sandals. "Okay, what the hell. I'll try it."

"That's the spirit," George teased. "There's an extra mat over by the door."

"Thanks."

"So, what's up?" George asked, moving fluidly back into her own practice while Nancy unrolled the spare mat.

"It's been an interesting morning," Nancy said. Quickly, she outlined the essentials: her bewildering encounter with Ned in the parking lot, Joe's phone call, her resulting impatience.

"My mind is spinning," she concluded, tugging at the waistband of her shorts. "And these shorts definitely weren't made for moving like this. I don't think your distraction is going to work for me."

"I give my students a mantra to focus on if they can't keep their thoughts from scattering," George said.

"Do you have any extra lying around?"

Nancy had been half-joking, but George turned and said, very seriously, "Find a way, or make one."

Nancy repeated it slowly. "Find a way, or make one."

"Yup. Read it somewhere and thought of you," George said.

 _Find a way or make one_ , Nancy thought. "I like it," she said aloud. "It feels right."

George looked pleased, but made no response.

Several quiet minutes passed.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said finally. "I never even asked how you're doing."

"Not bad, considering."

"Considering?" Nancy prompted, shaking her chin free from a fold of fabric. Her blouse slipped upward every time she attempted downward dog, pooling irritatingly around her face and leaving her midriff bare. _I'm really not dressed for this._

"Just considering," George said with a shrug.

Nancy gave up and settled back on her mat. The floor felt pleasantly cool against her bare legs. "When do you start teaching classes again?" she asked.

"Monday. And I still have a metric fuck-ton of prep to do before then."

"I told you I was here to help!" Nancy scolded.

"Yeah, whatever. You're going to be busy investigating."

"Possibly." Nancy was quiet for a moment. Then she giggled. "A metric fuck-ton? What is that in non-metric terms?"

"About two and a half shitloads," George said, grinning back at her.

Nancy held up a hand, suddenly, asking for quiet. "Did you hear a door?" she said, keeping her voice low.

George sat up. "No."

"I'm positive- " Nancy broke off. They could both hear a new sound, now: the sound of someone approaching rapidly in high heels.

"Bess," Nancy decided.

Moments later, Bess Marvin-Kim stormed into the room. She halted just inside the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other holding a lit cigarette. Her blue eyes flashed sparks.

"I'm leaving him," she announced heatedly.

Nancy was already on her feet. "What happened?"

"Where are the girls?" George added.

"They're with my mom." Bess glanced from George's face to Nancy's, and though Nancy had tried to keep her face neutral she could tell that Bess was picking up on their unspoken fear. "He didn't hurt me. You can stop looking me over like that. I'm fine. We're all fine."

"Right. You're fine," George said drily.

"Physically," Bess snapped. "But I mean it. It's over." She bit off each word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"Do you- " Nancy started.

"Is there any actual furniture upstairs yet?" Bess interrupted, stalking toward the stairs that led to George's living space.

"Not really," George protested.

Nancy reached out and caught George's arm. "I don't think she cares," she murmured, tugging George along in Bess's wake.

"This is bad," George grumbled softly.

"I know," Nancy agreed. Bess thrived on drama, enjoyed it; but every instinct Nancy possessed, as a detective and as a friend, was screaming that this was more than mere drama. Something had gone very wrong.

Upstairs, in George's half-unpacked kitchen, Bess flung herself into a chair and took a deep drag from her cigarette. Nancy moved a box of dishes off a second chair and settled herself, reaching for Bess's free hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Bess exhaled smoke. "Do I want to talk about the complete collapse of my marriage? Sure, let's talk about that," she said stonily.

George, rather unhelpfully, leaned in and plucked the cigarette from her cousin's hand. "Give me that. This isn't helping," she said with obvious distaste.

"George, don't," Nancy protested. Bess, however, simply sat and watched until George had stubbed it out near an open window and fanned away the smoke; then she coolly pulled out another cigarette and lit it.

"I don't know who I'm more furious with," she said, addressing herself to Nancy. "Tom, or myself for trusting him."

"What did he do?" George called, her voice muffled slightly. Always restless in an emotional crisis, she had prowled from the window to the refrigerator rather than return to the table.

"I caught him cheating."

Nancy felt her eyes widen. "No!"

"Yes," Bess said. Her voice was steady, but Nancy noticed that her hand was shaking as she brought the cigarette to her lips again.

"I warned you when you started dating him," George said, returning to the table with a glass of green tea. She slid it over toward Bess and scowled at the new cigarette. "Damn it, Bess, give me that. Give me the whole pack."

"Really? That's what you care about right now?"

"I'm trying to help!" George said hotly. "Making yourself sick won't make anything better. Give me the cigarettes."

Bess exploded. "For once in your life could you not be a sanctimonious bitch? It's my goddamn body and if I want a fucking cigarette, I'll smoke a fucking cigarette!"

"Fine!" George yelled back, slamming the pack back into Bess's purse. "Go ahead and kill yourself like you always do. Smoke the whole damn pack. I'll even get you a dozen donuts so you can start bingeing again while you're at it."

Bess deflated. "God, George," she said brokenly.

"I'm sorry," George said immediately. "Shit. Bess, I'm sorry. That was over the line."

It was the same conflict Nancy had seen play out thousands of times, the same friction between Bess's need for indulgence and George's need for action. Carefully, Nancy reached out and slid the offending glass of tea off to the side.

"George," she said softly, "do you have anything stronger?"

"Maybe. I'll check."

"Thanks." Nancy reached across the table again, taking Bess's free hand and squeezing gently.

"Fine," Bess said, before Nancy could speak. "You don't have to say it."

"All I was going to say was that we're here for you," Nancy told her.

George returned with a large, half-empty mason jar. "Here. This is all I could dig up."

"Apple pie moonshine?" Bess said, studying the label with undisguised distaste. "Classy, Georgia."

George shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

With a sigh, Bess handed George her cigarette and accepted the jar.

"It's not bad," Nancy assured her.

Bess gingerly unscrewed the lid, sipped, and shuddered. "It reminds me of that time we went camping," she said, making a face. She sipped again and passed the jar to Nancy.

For a moment, all three women were quiet. Nancy took the smallest possible sip and quietly handed the jar to George, who shook her head and placed it back in front of Bess.

"It doesn't feel real," Bess said finally, picking at the edge of the jar's label. "I never thought this could happen to me."

"I know," Nancy said sympathetically. Though she was keeping it hidden for Bess's sake, she, too, was shocked.

 _Should I have seen this coming? Tom always has been a flirt, but so has Bess,_ she thought. _I always thought they were a good match._ As far as Nancy could see, Tom's laid-back charm was the perfect complement for Bess's slightly more domineering brand of sexuality. _What went wrong?_

"What happened?" George asked, echoing Nancy's thoughts.

"He cheated is what happened!" Bess said indignantly. She gulped more whiskey.

"Yeah, but how did you find out?"

"I was looking at this month's credit card bill," Bess said. "I don't usually read the whole thing...and yes, I know, I'm pretty dumb, but I'm not as dumb as him, because I didn't use a freaking joint credit card to pay for presents for my mistress!"

"What did you see, Bess?" Nancy asked.

"I thought it was a mistake, at first. I actually went and showed Tom." Bess sniffed. "I told him they were charging us for some jewelry we didn't buy, and I was going to call and make them fix it. He said he'd take care of it. I...I don't know why, but I thought...I just had a feeling he was hiding something. So I asked him if he knew anything about it, and he got super defensive and asked me why I didn't just come out and ask if he was cheating..." She sniffed again. Nancy silently found a pack of tissues in her purse and handed them over. "Thanks, Nan."

"What did you say?" Nancy prompted.

"I got mad. He was being really weird about it. So I did ask him." Bess dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "He denied it and then turned around and accused me of being a flirt. I invited him to bite me. He called me a shallow bitch. I took the girls and left."

"You do flirt a lot," George said.

"George!" Nancy scolded.

The fire in Bess's eyes flared again. "Okay, fine. I won't deny it. But why the hell is it okay when he does it, but not when I do?" She tossed her head scornfully. "And at least I've never cheated on him! I would never do that. Never."

"Is it possible," Nancy said gently, "that you misread the situation? Could he be planning a surprise for you?"

Bess shook her head. "I'm not completely stupid, Nance. I checked with the manager of the jewelry store after I dropped off the girls with my parents. She remembered Tom and she remembered what he bought." She turned as she spoke, fumbled in her purse, and produced a folded scrap of paper, which she slapped down victoriously on the table. "There. See for yourself."

"What is it?" George asked.

"It's what he had them print on the gift receipt," Bess said. The flash in her eyes seemed more like tears than defiance, now.

Nancy reached for it. "For N," she read aloud. "The angel in my arms and the devil on my shoulder."

"Fuck," George breathed.

"Oh, Bessie. That is absolutely damning," Nancy said, folding the scrap of paper viciously in half.

"What am I going to do?" Bess wailed. "We were so good together! Why would he do this? I keep going over and over everything. I should have tried harder to lose weight. I should have made more time for him. I should have- "

"Bess, no!" Nancy said sternly. "This was not your fault."

"How can I believe that?" Bess sobbed.

"Oh, sweetie." Nancy did the only thing she could do: she went around the table and gathered Bess into her arms.

"I'll kill him," George said grimly, shoving back her chair and rising to pace the perimeter of the kitchen.

"I didn't hear that," Nancy murmured into Bess's hair.

Bess pulled away, wiping her eyes. "It's just- - it's fucking killing me. She gets jewelry and romantic notes, and what the hell do I get from him? I get stretch marks! I get twenty extra pounds that won't go away no matter how many salads I eat. I get leaky boobs and bags under my eyes and I've wasted the best years of my life on that, that- " She broke off, gesturing helplessly, at a loss for words.

"Douchewaffle?" George suggested.

Nancy could not help it. She giggled. A moment later, Bess joined in.

"That douchewaffle," she repeated, laughing and crying all at the same time.

George flung herself back into the third chair at the table and leaned in to make earnest eye contact with her cousin. "Seriously, Bess. Say the word and I will make him suffer."

"But I l-love him," Bess sobbed. Her anger was a dying star, now, collapsing under its own weight, crushing her inexorably into the black hole of sorrow. "Vivienne was his idea," she added. "That's what absolutely kills me. He begged. Why would he want another baby if he doesn't care about us?"

She crumpled against Nancy's shoulder again. Nancy held her, feeling helpless. Mechanically she spoke the words one says to a friend who has been betrayed, though they tasted like chalk in her mouth. _We're here for you, we love you, we will get you through this_...all of it was true, and yet all of it was so terribly inadequate.

George was pacing again in the background: shifting moving boxes, bringing tissues, brewing coffee. Occasionally she perched on Bess's other side and rested a bird-light hand on her leg or shoulder.

Finally Bess's sobs gave way to stillness. She sat up, wiping her eyes with the last tissue from her pack.

"I thought I'd found a guy who wasn't an asshole," she said, trying to smile.

"No such thing," George said without rancor, distributing mugs of coffee. "Ask Nan."

Bess's gaze sharpened. "Cherie? What did Joe do?"

"Nothing!" Nancy said, raising an eyebrow at George.

"I meant Ned," George said, answering Nancy's questioning look with a determined nod.

 _Oh,_ Nancy thought, realizing what George was up to. _What better way to cheer Bess up than by distracting her with fresh gossip? Devious and brilliant._

"I ran into Ned in town this morning," she told Bess, and proceeded to relate the entire unpleasant encounter, playing up her distress and confusion for maximum distraction purposes. Then, in the interest of fairness, she looked back toward George and added "But don't look so smug, George. You have drama, too, and his name is Burt Eddleston. Have you stopped avoiding him yet?"

"That's...not relevant," George said stiffly.

"Please tell me you've at least returned his calls," Bess said.

"I texted him," George said.

"She was listening to that CD he made her in high school when I got here today," Nancy informed Bess.

"I don't know what I want," George said.

"Call him," Bess said. "Just freaking call him. You know why you can't let go of him."

She got up as she spoke. Nancy, studying her friend's face, saw with a quiet pulse of satisfaction that George's distraction had been successful. Bess looked stronger, now, and calmer.

"Thank you, girls," Bess said, gathering up her used tissues. "I'm going to go powder my nose."

George wrinkled her own nose as her cousin left the room. "Who even says that anymore? And thanks for throwing me under the bus, by the way."

"My pleasure," Nancy said sweetly.

"I'm sure." George sighed and stretched. "Don't you need to get home so Joe can brief you on the new case?" She paused, then snorted. "Sorry. Didn't mean that to sound so pervy."

Nancy laughed aloud, grateful for the release of tension. The truth was that she had almost forgotten about the potential new case.

"I'll text him and let him know what's going on. Should we take her out for some lunch?"

"No, thanks, darling," Bess said, sailing back into the room. She had managed to smooth her tousled hair and repair her makeup so expertly that if Nancy had not known what signs to look for, she would never have known that the other woman had spent the last hour sobbing. "I need to get back to my babies."

"You're not driving anywhere," George said bluntly. "I'll give you a ride."

Bess nodded, accepting this without argument.

George, seeming relieved to have a task to accomplish, grabbed her keys and headed downstairs. Nancy lingered a moment, retrieving Bess's purse from the floor. She had a feeling Bess had more to say.

Sure enough, Bess cleared her throat. "Nancy?"

"Yes?"

"I...I want to hire you. I want you to find out who she is."

"Bess, I'm not sure that would be a good idea. What would be the point? How would knowing her name help you?"

"It can't be any worse than not knowing," Bess said stubbornly.

"I'll think about it," Nancy promised. "And I want you to think about it, too. If this is still what you want after you've had time to process everything, then I'll do it."

Again, Bess nodded. "Okay."

Nancy reached for her hand. "Come on. Let's get down there before George comes back for us."

"She would do that, wouldn't she. I love the girl, but I swear she was a Border Collie in a past life," Bess grumbled.

Nancy was quiet for a moment. She did not want to re-open the fresh wound, but she needed to know. So finally she came out and asked: "What are you going to do now?"

Bess took a shaky breath. "Stay with my parents. Think things over. Try to get the truth out of him. Maybe we can still salvage this."

"Do you want to? Can you trust him?"

"It's not that easy, Nan. I have to think about Myra and Vivienne."

"Myra and Vivienne deserve a mother who knows her value."

"You're going to wreck my mascara again." Bess reached for the tissues which were no longer in her bag, frowned, and settled for blinking several times to hold back the incipient tears.

"You know you and the girls can come stay with me if you need to," Nancy said carefully. "You can show up anytime, day or night."

"And find you and Joe going at it on the kitchen floor?" Bess joked weakly.

"We're not animals. If we have to do it in the kitchen, we always use the table," Nancy joked back.

They had reached the parking lot by now. George was perched on the hood of her Jeep, waiting. She slid down as Nancy and Bess approached.

"Thanks," Bess said softly, pausing to wrap Nancy in a long, fierce hug.

"I mean it," Nancy told her. "If you need anything at all, I'm here for you."

"Ditto," George said. "But you already knew that."

"I've never doubted it."

Bess was blinking back tears again when she pulled away. Nancy saw her straighten up, smooth her skirt, and adjust her purse before climbing gracefully into the waiting Jeep; and by the time she was settled there she had regained her poise.

 _I wonder if I'd be half as strong, in her place,_ Nancy thought, sliding behind the wheel of her own car. _I hope I never find out._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Briefing

 _Many thanks to BMSH, Caranath, Cherylann Rivers, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, sm2003495, Drumboy100, Guest, and Ritu (to answer your question, Frank and Callie will appear soon. They're not the focus of this story, but they play a significant part.), for your responses to the last chapter._  
 _And just a heads up- this may move up to M in the next chapter._

Joe was just parking his motorcycle when Nancy pulled into the driveway.

"You're not just getting home, are you?" she called, surprised.

Tugging off his helmet, he loped over for a quick kiss. "I take it you didn't get my message."

"No. I'm sorry. I haven't even looked at my phone since we talked earlier." Nancy darted out a hand to cup his face before he could pull away. "Where are you going?"

"Inside?"

"But I'm not finished saying hello," Nancy said, tilting her face up for a second kiss. One had not been enough. Neither, as it turned out, was two. When she came back for a third, she felt Joe smile against her lips.

"Hello to you, too," he said, catching her lower lip gently between his teeth. "Want to take this indoors?"

"Mm-mm. I'm happy here."

"Baby, I have my fair share of kinks, but public indecency charges aren't one of them. You know Mrs. Graf would call it in."

Nancy glared briefly at the adjoining apartment's window. Sure enough, the curtain twitched. "Mrs. Graf needs a hobby," she muttered, stepping away from Joe and smoothing her blouse.

"If my brother weren't a police officer, I might risk it. But can you imagine how much shit Frank would give us for something like that?" Joe joked, heading for the front door.

 _Frank._ The mention of his name pulled Nancy's attention back to her original question.

"Did Frank meet you guys at the gym? Is that why you're just getting home?" she asked. If Frank had turned up, the odds were that the brothers' competitive streak had kept them pushing themselves far beyond the regular workout Joe and Chet had planned.

"No. I had to take Chet to the emergency room."

"What? Is he okay?" Nancy grabbed for her phone and scrolled through the messages as she followed Joe into the house, searching for one from "Han Solo."

 _There. "Captain: regret to report casualties sustained. Taking Chet to ER, will explain ASAP."_

"Why are you reading that now?" Joe looked amused. "He's fine, Nan. Let's get some windows open."

That was a good idea. Their ancient window air conditioner unit had given up the ghost the first time they had turned it on in June, and they had decided to try a summer without air conditioning rather than shell out the money for a new one.

"Why are all our appliances dying lately?" Nancy said, more to herself than to Joe, as she crossed the living room to open the window.

"Maybe someone put the evil eye on us," Joe suggested from the bedroom.

"Probably Mrs. Graf," Nancy joked. "What happened to Chet?"

She heard the bedroom window open- it always stuck and then shrieked in protest as it was forced upward- and then Joe reappeared, sans helmet, backpack, boots, and jacket.

"He hurt his shoulder," he said, crossing into the kitchen.

"Torn ligaments?" Nancy guessed.

"That was my guess, too, but it turned out to be just a strain. Hurts like hell, but he'll live."

"Did they give him pain meds?" Nancy asked, grinning.

Joe peered around the kitchen door and grinned back. "Strong ones. He's high as a kite. Some of the words he used even made me blush."

"Yeah, right," Nancy scoffed. Then she had a sudden thought. "Wait. You took him to the ER on your motorcycle?"

"No, we took the Queen," Joe said, referring to Chet's beloved jalopy. "Then I circled back to the gym to get my bike. Frank and I can run out after dinner and get Her Majesty."

He retreated into the kitchen. Nancy, who was still standing in front of the open living room window, gathered her ponytail in one hand and held it away from her neck to allow the cooler air to flow across her exposed skin. She could hear Joe moving around, getting glasses out of the cabinet, running water from the tap, singing scraps of something too low for her to catch the tune.

"When do I get to hear about this mystery?" she called, moving over to sit on the sofa. From there, she had a decent view into the kitchen.

"Just a sec," he called back, tossing his t-shirt over the back of a chair. Nancy smiled. Her private theory about this habit of his, the ritual of stripping away layers as he settled in at home, was that the discarded clothing mirrored the shedding of his public persona. He often found it useful to be underestimated, and tended to play up the more impetuous, happy-go-lucky parts of his personality around most people. But here, at home, he was the most genuine version of himself. Nancy was fascinated with the skill and the psychological implications of the habit, and she felt honored to be among the people he trusted.

The second he had promised dragged out into a minute, then longer. He was prying ice cubes out of a tray in a leisurely fashion.

"You're killing me," Nancy groaned, toppling over onto the next cushion in a dramatic feigned swoon. Then, just as quickly, she sat up. "Oh, I forgot to tell you! I have a new case, too."

"Another one? We're busy all of a sudden."

"I'm not complaining. I could use the distraction."

Joe, who had just entered the room with a glass of water for each of them, quirked an eyebrow at her. "You're still not sleeping."

"Not well." There was no point denying it. They shared a bed, after all, and Joe was a light sleeper.

"What's going on, Nan?"

Nancy hesitated. She and Joe were not in the habit of holding things back from each other, but she was not ready to discuss this. So she shook her head, and said "It's nothing. Just a lot of crazy dreams. It's probably the heat."

Her words might have sounded more convincing if she had been able to make eye contact while she uttered them. But Joe was a good man, and he let the subject drop.

"Tell me about your mystery, first," he said instead.

Nancy shelved her guilt, rallied her thoughts, and explained about Bess. "She wants me to find out who this woman is," she concluded. "But I don't know. I told her I'd think about it."

Joe let out a long whistle. "Damn," he said bluntly. "I've noticed him checking girls out a few times, but I thought he was too whipped to actually cross the line."

"Joseph," Nancy protested, giggling despite herself.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," Joe said. "That's the vibe they have, you know? She's obviously in charge."

"She is," Nancy agreed. "Oh. I just thought of something. Remember the Davis case last year?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"I was talking to Bess and Tom the day I went to check out the Bay View Motel, and Tom seemed really familiar with the place. At the time, I didn't think anything of it. But now..."

"Now you're wondering if he's done this before," Joe guessed.

"Exactly."

"You do want to investigate this."

"I think I do."

There was a pause. Then Joe snorted. "What kind of no-class animal takes a woman to the Bay View? The place is a shithole."

"Really? That's what you're taking away from this conversation?" Nancy raised an eyebrow at him. "Where would you take a lady for an adulterous tryst?"

"If she's the kind of lady you buy nice jewelry for, you take her to a nice hotel. It's common courtesy."

"Of course. Etiquette is so important when it comes to affairs," Nancy teased. "Your mother must be so proud of you."

"I'm a testament to my upbringing," Joe said with a wink.

"I'll be sure to thank her next time I see her," Nancy deadpanned. She took a sip of water. "Anyway, I don't have any proof that Tom's brought anyone there."

"Fair enough. We'll dig into it."

Joe had been perched on the arm of the couch, looking down at her in a way that reminded her of George's posture earlier. Now he jumped down and started pacing.

"On a more serious note," he said, "do Bess and the girls need a place to stay? We have that extra bedroom, and I can borrow some toys for the girls from Mom. She's been hauling out all our old stuff to get it ready for Miles. And we can- "

Nancy held up a hand. "She knows, Joe."

"Okay. Good."

The next time he passed within range, Nancy made a grab for the nearest belt loop on his jeans and reeled him in. "You're making me feel jittery. Sit down and tell me about your case, please."

"I stink," he warned her, scooting to the other side of the couch. "I didn't get a chance to shower at the gym, thanks to Chester's little stunt."

"So I'll hold my breath. Talk fast."

Joe's smile did not reach his eyes. He seemed very serious, suddenly. "Before I get into the details, I want you to understand that we are not going to take this case unless you are 100% on board with it."

"You're making me nervous," Nancy said, letting go of her held breath and all inclination to joke at the same time. "Who called you?"

"Vanessa," he said.

"Vanessa _Bender_? That Vanessa?"

Joe nodded.

 _First Ned, now Vanessa,_ Nancy thought, feeling a bit broadsided by the coincidence. _We've got exes coming out of the woodwork today._

The silence stretched out until, aware that she needed to say something, Nancy blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Why?"

"She said that it's a sensitive case, and she can trust me and Frank to keep a low profile."

"She doesn't know you and Frank aren't working together anymore," Nancy realized.

"She does now," Joe said.

"But Frank was planning to jump in on our next case," Nancy said slowly. "Why don't you two just work this one?"

"Whoa. No way." Joe reached for Nancy's hand. "First of all, we're a team. I meant it. If you don't want to touch this case, none of us will touch it. And second of all, isn't Callie due, like, yesterday? There's no way Frank wants to work a case right now."

"Her due date is August 21. That's still a few weeks away," Nancy said.

"Really? But she looks- " Joe reined himself in. "Really pregnant," he concluded lamely.

"You'd better watch your mouth around her tonight," Nancy teased.

"Noted," Joe said.

There was a pause. Nancy looked down at their clasped hands and ran a fingertip idly across Joe's knuckles.

"Didn't she move to San Diego?" she asked finally, returning to the subject of Vanessa.

"San Francisco," Joe said, nodding. "But her mother's latest boyfriend bought that abandoned campground out near Stoney Point last year, and she moved back to help run the place."

"Camp Sunshine?" Nancy said sharply.

"That's what it used to be called. Is that important?"

"Some girls went missing from there in the 70s," Nancy said.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, Van mentioned that. That's actually why she wanted me and Frank on the case."

A chill rippled up Nancy's spine. "Did she find a clue to the disappearances? Are there- "

"Easy, Drew. It's nothing as exciting as that."

"Oh." Nancy deflated. "What, then?"

"Petty theft. Vandalism." Joe shrugged. "I told her there's no way we're driving all the way out there to catch some bored teenager. That's what the local PD is for. But Vince, that's the boyfriend, is dead set on keeping this off the record."

"I can see why, especially with that old case making headlines again. The last thing they need is for people to connect their new business with those poor girls."

"Exactly. Publicity like that might draw a few adrenaline junkies, but most people would decide they'd rather feel safe on vacation and take their business elsewhere." Joe's thumb stroked along her hand, absentmindedly. "Though, let's be realistic. It's probably a little late to keep everything on the down-low. People aren't that stupid. But hey, they're entitled to give it a shot."

"So she called you."

"So she called Frank," Joe corrected. "And Frank gave her my number."

Nancy thought for a moment. In her experience, there was no such thing as a true coincidence. The universe had been shoving that camp in her face at every turn, today, and it was not in her nature to walk away from a hint like that.

 _But, on the other hand_ , she thought, _why should we do Vanessa a favor? She has some nerve if she thinks she can say the word and make the Hardys come running, after all this time._

"I know that look," Joe said. "What's up?"

"Ned approached me today," Nancy said, squaring her shoulders. The blunt approach seemed like the best one.

"What?"

"He asked me to give him another chance. I said no."

The confusion on Joe's face cleared away. "And you think I should have told Vanessa to fuck off, too."

"Yes. No. Kind of." Nancy sighed. "It's not the same thing. She didn't proposition you. It's just a case."

"If you don't want it- "

"I know. You keep saying that. But that implies that you do want it, or at least that you have no problem with it."

"Okay, so it's not ideal, but when it comes down to it we never spend much time with the client. I have a feeling this could be an interesting one."

"It bothers me that she came running to you."

"Yeah, I wasn't thrilled, either." Joe sighed. "Did I mention we'd get to go undercover as guests? And that Vince remodeled the whole place? I looked it up online. There's a pool, a lake, a stable..."

"So it's basically a free vacation, mystery included," Nancy said. "How could we turn that down?"

Joe leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger against her cheek. "We don't have to decide right now. We can sleep on it."

Though she already knew they were going to do it, Nancy just nodded. "Thanks," she said softly. "I appreciate the way you handled this."

"Like we already established, I'm a gentleman," Joe said with a wink. He patted her hand and rose. "Okay. Shower time."

He moved off toward the bathroom. Nancy got up, too, and grabbed an apple from the kitchen to mollify her rumbling stomach before returning to the living room to eat her snack and text George.

 _How are things?_

The answer came back almost instantly: _She's ok. I'm still here with her. The douchewaffle left._

 _As in, went out for awhile, or left for good?_

 _Don't know, don't care,_ George wrote back.

 _I feel so helpless. Should we break out the champagne and chocolate?_

 _Not yet. I'll stay with her tonight._

 _If you need ANYTHING call me._

 _Will do._

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Joe returned before long, dressed in fresh jeans and a t-shirt, and squeezed himself into the armchair alongside Nancy.

"Comfortable?" she asked archly.

"I am now," he said, pulling her into his lap. "Anything good on?"

Nancy glanced at the television, which she had turned on and promptly forgotten in her worry over Bess. "I have no idea. Here, take the remote."

"I just talked to Frank," Joe said, clicking idly through the channels.

"In the shower?"

"I put him on speaker. He's interested. He wants to hear more about it tonight at dinner."

"Okay. What time are we going over?"

"Around six." Joe leaned over her shoulder to steal a bite of apple.

"Hey!" Nancy said in token protest, even as she let herself relax against his chest. It was really too hot to be sitting on top of each other like this, but she could not bring herself to move. The familiar angles of his body, the warmth of his hand resting on her leg, the clean scent of his shampoo, all provided a sense of peace and security which Nancy appreciated after the day's events.

"I like these shorts," Joe said, tracing a finger lightly along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "They're short."

Nancy laughed. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"Don't mock me when I'm trying to seduce you." He dipped his head and brushed his lips against her neck, just behind her ear. Nancy let her head fall back against his shoulder, baring the length of her neck to him in a silent invitation to carry on.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that's what you were doing," she said lazily. "I'll shut up and let you try another line."

"Too late. My feelings are hurt now."

Nancy raised her free hand and threaded her fingers loosely into his still-damp hair. She could feel his smile against her skin. "Maybe there's some way I could make it up to you," she suggested.

"I like the sound of that," he answered. Then his tone sobered. "All joking aside, last night has been playing on a loop in my head all day."

"Last night?" Nancy twisted to look at him. "But it wasn't- I mean, it was really good, but why?"

"Why fantasize about last night when it was possibly the most normal sex we've ever had? Beats me, but I can't get it out of my head." He bit lightly at her earlobe, grazing it with his teeth before circling her earring with the point of his tongue.

Nancy moaned. "To be fair, it's never normal sex," she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder again. "Normal sex is boring. I'm never bored with you."

"Shit. If he let you get bored, he wasn't doing it right," Joe drawled.

He had been stroking her thigh during the entire exchange, softly and slowly but with evident intent. Now he let the upward stroke continue until he was pressing between her legs, rubbing along the inseam of those stupid restrictive shorts which had been nothing but a nuisance to her all day.

"I was wrong. I don't like the shorts anymore," he said, slipping his other hand up under her blouse to cup a breast. Nancy arched back against him, wanton and breathless.

And then they both went still.

"Joe," Nancy said eagerly, sitting up.

"On it." He was already punching the volume button on the remote.

On the screen, the news anchor was speaking in a somber tone. " - identified as the remains of Elizabeth Langley, who disappeared in August 1974," he said. "The discovery has raised hopes within the community that answers may finally be forthcoming in the cases of several other young women who went missing in the area that summer." The man paused, shuffling papers. "On Wall Street today- "

Both detectives relaxed. Nancy hit the power button, cutting off the rest of the news report.

"I was hoping for more information than that," she said, disappointed.

"Me too." Joe shifted, pulling his other hand out of her bra as though he had just realized it was still there. "I'm starting to agree with you, Nan. There's something going on here."

"You don't think..." Nancy let the thought trail off.

"What?"

"Vanessa wouldn't be covering anything up, would she?" She hated to say it. The last thing she wanted was to sound jealous or catty. But Joe seemed to take the idea at face value.

"No," he said thoughtfully. "Downplaying anything isn't really her style. We could check up on her mom's boyfriend, though. Maybe he has some literal skeletons in his closet."

"We should research the missing girls, too. It can't hurt to be familiar with the details." Nancy turned to look up into Joe's face. "I love that we both went into sleuth mode at the same time," she said, smiling.

"I don't know. Is it a good sign that our detective instincts are stronger than our sex drive?" Joe pondered.

"I guess it was inevitable for the passion to die sometime," Nancy said, shaking her head in mock sorrow.

Joe leaned in, cupping her chin, and kissed her tenderly. "As if that could ever happen," he said. "We'll pick up where we left off after dinner, Nan. That's a promise."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Dinner and Decisions

...

Author's Note: Thank you for being patient with me. I've been fighting with this chapter for way too long. Writer's block, anxiety, houseguests, traveling, overthinking, general busy-ness...I've got a pocketful of excuses nobody really wants to hear. So- on to the story!

As always, your beautiful reviews and encouraging/nagging messages mean so much to me. Cherylann Rivers, dougjudy, newtothis, drumboy100, max2013, EvergreenDreamweaver, Caranath, sm2003495, BMSH, Cecilia Haunt, RadiantEyes, Ara, IfEverythingWent, Ritu, Highflyer, Fernweh, and various Guests- thank you all.

.

Side note: This plot in general is off to a super slow start. I've just decided to go with it. There's a lot of interpersonal stuff going on and I don't want to rush through anything.

...

Later that evening, in a moment of quiet after their meal, Nancy caught Callie making determined eye contact with her across the dinner table.

"What is it?" she asked, somewhat bemused by the intensity of the other woman's stare. "Do I have food on my face?"

Despite the impediment of her protruding belly, Callie attempted to lean conspiratorially closer. "Don't play dumb with me, Nancy. I can tell when you have news. Out with it, quick, before the boys come back!" she ordered.

"Speaking of the boys, what's taking them so long?" Nancy said, peering toward the kitchen. "It shouldn't take this long to start a pot of coffee and grab the cake off the counter."

Callie shrugged. "This is Frank and Joe Hardy we're talking about. For all we know they discovered a clue to an international jewel thief in the coffee beans."

"If they took off after a criminal without me..." Nancy said darkly.

"That would never happen." Callie sat back, smoothing a hand along the generous curve of her abdomen. "What's on your mind? Spill it, girl."

 _So much for changing the subject_ , Nancy thought ruefully. She sighed. "I'm really not holding out on you. It's only a new case." _And Bess's situation, but that's not my news to share._

"Oh." Callie's enthusiasm visibly dimmed.

"Oh?" Nancy echoed.

"Just oh. For a minute there, I thought that maybe...well, never mind."

"Never mind what?" Joe asked, dropping a handful of forks onto the table with a clatter.

"It's what people usually say when they're not interested in explaining," Frank chided.

"There you are!" Nancy said brightly. Relief flared up in her chest, hot and bright as a lit sparkler. She curled her unadorned left hand against her flat stomach and tried not to resent Callie's all-too-obvious line of speculation.

"We were just about to send a search party after you," Callie teased.

"There was a minor incident," Joe said offhandedly.

But Callie was obviously no longer listening. "Why didn't you tell me you'd brought strawberry shortcake?" she cried, happily accepting the plate Frank had proffered.

"I asked her not to, because I knew you'd want to skip dinner and go straight for the strawberries," Frank confessed.

"Latest craving?" Nancy asked sympathetically.

"One of them." Callie's eyes were closed in pleasure. "These are so good. Where did you get them?"

"Mortons' farm stand," Joe said. "I would have picked up extra if I'd known. You've got to keep us in the loop on these things."

"You want a daily cravings bulletin?" There was a mischievous sparkle in Callie's eyes, now. "Okay. This week it's been strawberries, pepperoni pizza, and sex."

"Cal!" Frank protested in a strangled voice.

"Sex isn't a food craving. Does it count?" Joe pondered.

"Does it matter?" Frank demanded.

"I think it counts. They're not mutually exclusive," Nancy offered, carefully maintaining a thoughtful expression. She enjoyed Callie's blossoming forthrightness; and besides, watching Frank squirm now and then was entertaining.

Frank tried to cut in again, but Joe talked smoothly over him. "You're right. There's definite potential for overlap. I mean, imagine what you could be doing with this cake right now if Nan and I weren't here."

"You have a very dirty mind," Callie informed him, as though this were news to anybody.

Joe winked. "I didn't say anything. Your imagination supplied the details. Want us to leave, doll?"

"Yes, actually," Frank grumbled.

"At least let me finish my cake," Nancy said, laughing.

"We'll take some with us. Why should they get all the fun?"

"Enough!" Frank exclaimed. He scrubbed a hand across his pink face and then leaned back, draping an arm along the back of his wife's chair. "When do I get to hear about the new case?" he added, in a transparent bid to change the subject.

Joe was all business in an instant. "What do you want to know?" he asked coolly, as though he had not been licking whipped cream from his fork in a suggestive manner only seconds ago. Nancy swallowed a fresh bout of laughter and glanced at Frank, awaiting his response.

"Everything. Vanessa wouldn't give me any details when we spoke earlier. She just wanted your number."

"That figures. Thanks so much for giving it to her, by the way."

Frank simply shrugged, unaffected by the heavy sarcasm in Joe's voice. "It was the fastest way to get her off the phone."

"Yeah, well, you could've warned me."

A subtle movement caught Nancy's peripheral vision, dragging her attention from the brothers' continued conversation to Callie's face. Callie was surprised; that much was obvious. But there was something more, some other emotion evident in her guileless brown eyes.

 _That's guilt,_ Nancy thought, intrigued. _Why should Callie feel guilty about Vanessa's call?_

Beside her, Joe had begun to summarize the case. Though his tone was once again businesslike, Nancy sensed the tangle of emotions hidden behind his practiced facade: irritation at being broadsided by Vanessa's call, enthusiasm for this new mystery, hope that Frank would find the facts interesting enough to join them. Quickly and gently, so as not to interrupt, Nancy slid a hand onto his thigh and rested it there, offering her support. She was gratified when Joe dropped his own hand down a moment later and gave hers a quick squeeze.

The briefing did not take long. Joe's recitation of the facts, which started out perfunctory, became increasingly animated. Beneath Nancy's palm, the long rigid muscle of his thigh gradually relaxed. But then his summary ended and his leg tensed again; and Nancy knew exactly what he was about to ask.

"So," he said, and paused. Cleared his throat. His leg was bouncing slightly, now, in a constant repetitive motion. Nancy pressed down on it, willing him to steady himself. "What do you say? Are you in?"

Though his tone was casual, he seemed to be holding his breath. Feeling slightly breathless, herself, with the reverberations of Joe's desperate hopefulness, Nancy locked her eyes onto Frank's face and waited.

Frank, for his part, seemed completely unfazed by the three sets of eyes fixed on him. He simply nodded in a thoughtful way, as though he were absorbing and cataloguing the information Joe had provided.

 _Damn you and your poker face,_ Nancy thought, with a fierceness which surprised her. _Say yes. Please say yes._

But Frank was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry. This isn't a good time for me to take off on a case."

The sentiment was exactly what the world would expect from solid, dependable Frank Hardy. If his delivery had been just a touch less automatic, Nancy would have believed him.

 _He's trying to convince himself that he means it,_ she thought, studying his face. He still wasn't giving much away. Joe, on the other hand, was a veritable billboard of emotion. Frustration and disappointment were written all over his face.

"Bullshit," he said forcefully. "That's an excuse, and a pretty flimsy one at that. I'm not asking you to turn in your badge. I'm just asking you to work one case."

"You know that's not all you're asking, just like you know I can't walk away and leave Callie right now."

"Fine!" Joe snapped. "Fine. Then we're done here. We've established that you're always going to have an excuse. This time it's your pregnant wife, next time it'll be the baby, then- "

Frank cut him off. "Joe, I am not going to apologize for having a family!"

As suddenly as it had flared, Joe's anger faded. He pushed his fingers into his hair, heedlessly tousling the short blond strands.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Hell, I'd probably make the same choice if I were in your position."

No one spoke for a long moment after that. Nancy stared at her plate, wishing herself somewhere else, wishing she had had the foresight to encourage Joe to speak to Frank privately.

Callie's voice shattered the stillness.

"Do I get a say in this?" she inquired.

"Of course you do," Frank said hastily.

"Good. Because I think you should go."

The silence, this time, felt more shocked than sullen. Joe's eyes and Frank's widened in an identical look of surprise.

"What?" Frank managed, finally.

Serenely, Callie scooped up another strawberry and ate it. "I think you should work the case," she repeated.

"I won't leave you alone. Not now," Frank objected flatly.

"Your parents," Callie said, counting off the names on her fingers as she recited them. "Aunt Gertrude. Hannah. Bess. George. The Mortons. My parents. Abby. Polly. Amanda. How many am I up to, Nan?"

"Oh, no," Nancy said, alarmed. "Don't pull me into the middle of this."

"At least a dozen," Callie said, addressing Frank again. "I can list about a dozen people off the top of my head who could be here in minutes if I needed anything. There's no reason that Miles and I should hold you back from working this case."

Joe cleared his throat. "You can take some time to think about it," he said.

"By which he means that he would very much like not to sit through the rest of the argument," Callie said, glancing apologetically across the table.

"Discussion," Frank corrected.

"Semantics," Joe retorted, beginning to collect everyone's empty plates.

Nancy pushed back her own chair. "In the meantime, Cal, I'd love to take a peek at the progress in the baby's room."

As she had hoped, Callie's face lit up immediately. "Yes, come look! You won't even recognize it anymore."

..

Callie had not been exaggerating. The nursery, which had lingered for months in a state of creative chaos, had undergone a remarkable transformation. Gone were the woodworking tools and paint cans, the dusty footprints and un-hung canvases, the boxes of baby clothes and toys. Now the floorboards gleamed and the freshly-painted walls were adorned with Callie's artwork. The crib and changing table, a second-hand set once covered in multiple layers of peeling paint, had been sanded down to the natural wood and given a light coat of varnish. Toys, books, and a cozy rocking chair sat waiting.

"It's perfect," Nancy breathed, running a reverent hand along the glossy grain of the crib rail.

"I know he'll probably sleep in the cradle in our room for the first few months, but it feels good to have this room finished," Callie said.

Nancy nodded. "I can imagine. Now the only thing missing is Miles himself."

"I've told him to stay put awhile longer," Callie said quickly. "He can't come until this case is wrapped up, at least. We don't want to disappoint Uncle Joe."

"Uncle Joe would forget he even had a case the second he heard the baby was coming," Nancy said.

"I know." Callie sighed. "But they really miss working together. I am determined not to take this chance away from them."

 _I am determined not to take this chance away from them._ Nancy frowned. Self-deprecation was nothing new for Callie; but Nancy could not shake the feeling that she was missing something.

While she had been pondering, Callie had crossed the room to settle into the rocking chair. Now, despite the warmth of the room, she pulled the folded quilt off the chair's arm and into her lap.

"What a beautiful quilt. Is it an heirloom?" Nancy asked, in an attempt to regain her focus.

"My grandmother made it," Callie said, smoothing the faded fabric fondly. "Mom stopped by yesterday to give it to me."

Raising an eyebrow, Nancy asked, "As an olive branch, or a Trojan horse?" Callie's relationship with her parents, which had been built over some deep emotional fault lines, was still recovering from the seismic activity triggered by her pregnancy and marriage; and while Nancy was confident that Callie would have confided in her if she were having any new problems with them, she still felt the need to ask.

"A little of both, I think," Callie admitted. "She was kind, though. Or at least she tried to be. She dropped a few hints about being in the delivery room when the time comes."

"She didn't," Nancy said, aghast.

"I told her we'd give her a call when the baby and I are ready for visitors," Callie said.

"I think that was a wise decision," Nancy said.

"I hope so." Callie sighed and let her gaze drop back to the quilt in her lap.

 _I am determined not to take this chance away from them,_ Nancy thought again, with a sudden flash of insight. _We don't want to disappoint Uncle Joe. There's no reason that Miles and I should hold you back. I am determined not to take this chance away...there's the pattern._ There it was: the new strand of insecurity laid over her old, familiar pattern of self-doubt; the fear that she was an obligation to Frank, that the companionship and family life she offered were second best to the life he could have led without her.

"You're frowning," Callie said. Though her voice was soft, Nancy jumped. "What's wrong? Is it Vanessa? I'm sorry, I should have told you I knew she was back."

"No, it's nothing to do with her," Nancy said. She hesitated a moment, turned away to straighten the large stuffed cow which sat on the dresser, and finally blurted out her thought.

"I wish you didn't still believe that your baby is an inconvenience."

Callie made no reply. Nancy did not turn to look at her. Instead, she scowled at the cow, which had tilted to one side again, and gave it a half-hearted poke.

"I didn't say he is an inconvenience. I said you're afraid that he is," she clarified.

"Aren't babies the definition of inconvenience? Between the erratic sleep cycles and the constant hunger..." Callie's voice trailed off. Clearly, her heart was not in her attempt at humor. "Josephine never sits up straight. Don't waste your time," she said instead.

Nancy prodded the cow upright again anyway. "Am I wrong?"

"No, damn you," Callie huffed. "You're right."

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, turning her back on the recalcitrant cow.

"Look at me," Callie went on. She moved her feet off the ottoman and gestured for Nancy to sit before pointing at her stomach. "There's no hiding this. My body is the one growing him. My body is the one demanding food and rest and extra medical attention. It's easy for me to feel like a burden."

"So you told Frank to go." Nancy settled herself and pulled Callie's feet into her lap.

Callie nodded. "So I told him to go."

"And if you were to be honest?" Nancy inquired, dragging her thumb slowly and firmly along Callie's instep. The flesh covering the delicate bones of her foot was soft and slightly swollen. "Do you want him to stay home?"

"Yes and no," Callie said thoughtfully. "Mmm. That feels good."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Yes and no?" Nancy prompted.

"Oh. Well, having a few days all to myself before the baby comes sounds amazing. But on the other hand..." She blushed. "I wasn't joking, earlier. I really can't keep my hands off him lately. Don't laugh!"

"The camp isn't that far away. If the case drags on too long you can always give him a call," Nancy said mischievously.

"You want me to booty call my own husband?" Callie's voice rose indignantly.

"I didn't phrase it that way!" Nancy protested through her laughter.

"Hmph," Callie said in mock indignation. She poked Nancy's thigh with her other foot. "Hey. We have to talk about Vanessa. I should have told you she had moved back. I feel guilty."

"Don't be ridiculous," Nancy said lightly. "Your friendship with her is none of my business."

"It's not not your business. And anyway- " Callie winced and shifted in her chair, pressing a hand to her side.

"Callie?"

"Braxton Hicks."

Nancy let out a relieved breath. "Don't scare me like that. You were saying?"

"Oh...oh, right. I was saying that I'm not sure I'd call it a friendship these days. She friended me on Facebook when she first moved back, and we talked a little, but that petered out as soon as she found a boyfriend."

"Were you surprised that she reached out to Frank about this case?"

"Yes, at first. But the more I think about it, the less surprised I get. It's a classic Vanessa move."

"A power play?" Nancy guessed.

"Maybe, a little bit." Callie looked uncertain. "She's hard to explain. She's...well, she likes attention. She likes to organize things, announce big news, know things before other people find out...does that make sense?"

Nancy nodded. "I know the type."

"What bothers me is that she went out of her way to get Joe to work on this case. He's not the only private detective in the world, you know?" Callie said.

"Maybe the boyfriend didn't work out," Nancy said dryly.

Callie snorted. "He told her about you, right?"

"He told her I'm his partner. She can interpret that however she chooses."

"She'll figure it out the first time she sees you together."

"So I don't need to pack my 'Back off, bitch, he's mine' t-shirt?" Nancy quipped.

"You can borrow my label maker if you'd like to make up a batch of 'Property of Nancy Drew' stickers," Frank's deep voice, full of amusement, chimed in from the doorway. Both women looked up, startled.

"Or I could take the easy route and write it across his forehead in permanent marker," Nancy retorted.

"You could, but I think that might compromise our undercover identities," Frank replied.

"Our identities?" Nancy repeated, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You're going!" Callie exclaimed.  
Frank nodded. "It was three against one. How could I withstand that amount of pressure?"

"I'm so glad!" Nancy told him. Despite his flippant words, she read satisfaction and eagerness in his eyes.

"So am I," Callie added. "Joe must be ecstatic."

"I think he's helping himself to a celebratory second round of cake," Frank said with a grin.

"He's eating cake without me?" Callie yelped, scrambling out of her chair.

"We'd better hurry, too, before they eat it all," Frank commented.

"It might already be too late," Nancy joked. She had no desire for a second slice of cake so soon, but she gave the nursery a last admiring glance and followed Frank anyway.

In the kitchen, Callie was eating cake while Joe stirred cream into a mug of coffee. He held it out when he spotted Nancy.

"Mmm. Thanks," she murmured, taking a sip and offering the mug back.

"No, that's for you. If I'd made that for myself there would be a lot more sugar in it."

"Thank you!" Nancy took another sip and stretched up for what was meant to be a quick kiss. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

"Not so fast," Joe said, brushing his fingertips along her cheekbone and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before kissing her again. "I'll never understand how something that tastes so bitter in a cup tastes so sweet on your lips."

A groan from Callie dissolved the tenderness of the moment. "Nancy, honey, please tell me you don't fall for cheesy lines like that."

"Hey. You're in no position to judge, Ms. Overshares-at-the-dinner-table," Joe shot back.

"Play nice, children," Nancy remonstrated, moving toward the sink.

"They're not listening," Frank commented. He had been leaning against the counter with his hands in his pockets. Now he straightened up and took a decisive step her way.

"Don't touch those dishes, Drew."

"As if anyone raised by Hannah Gruen could ignore unwashed dishes," she scoffed.

"Yeah, it sounds about as unlikely as anyone raised by Laura Hardy standing around while a guest does all the work," Frank retorted. He bumped her lightly with his shoulder, crowding her playfully but firmly away from the sink.

"I hardly count as a guest," she protested.

"Too bad. Get out of here."

"Fine!" Nancy said with mock peevishness. "Let the record show that I made an effort. I'm going to drink my coffee on the deck with a clear conscience." And lifting her chin in a parody of stately vexation, she collected her mug and sailed gracefully out of the room- past Frank and the dishes, past the still-bickering Joe and Callie, through the sliding glass doors and onto the deck.

.

Outside, orange-hued sunset rays draped the world in soft and unoppressive warmth. The scents of lilac and fresh-cut grass drifted up from the yard below, mingling with the clean, herbal perfumes of the rosemary, mint, basil, and lavender growing in pots nearby. Nancy set her coffee on the broad railing, closed her eyes, and inhaled slowly, gratefully absorbing the peace of her surroundings.

"Penny for your thoughts."

The voice was not overly loud, but Nancy jumped, sending a miniature tidal wave of coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug.

"Frank!" she said reproachfully. "Weren't you doing the dishes?"

"They're done," he said. "It only takes a minute to load the dishwasher."

Shaking a few stray drops of coffee off her fingers, Nancy glanced sideways, trying to get a read on Frank's intentions. His posture was relaxed, his dark eyes as inscrutable as ever.

"You seemed pretty far away. Everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"Two women who deserved better," Nancy said simply. It was the truth. Though the day had brought almost too many things to ponder- Ned's confession, Camille's hints about grandchildren, Vanessa's dubious motives- in the end it was Elizabeth Langley's bones and Elizabeth Marvin-Kim's grief which lay heaviest on her mind.

As she had expected, Frank did not press her for any further explanation. He simply nodded, acknowledging that she was processing her thoughts, and joined her in looking out across his sun-warmed lawn.

 _He is not as relaxed as he's pretending to be,_ Nancy thought, sneaking another glance at the man lounging beside her. She catalogued the details with the ease of long practice: elbows planted on the railing, mug cupped between his hands, face turned toward the sunset, bare feet making him look younger and carefree. It was almost convincing.

Nancy sighed. "What's up?" she asked abruptly.

"Nothing." Frank looked startled by her tone.

"Liar," Nancy said, without heat. She looked pointedly at his hands. Despite having invested an admirable amount of energy over the years in ridding himself of tells, there was one he had yet to shake: the tapping. Pre-marriage, he had clicked a pen or drummed his fingers when deep in thought. These days he tended to tap his wedding ring against whatever hard surface was at hand. The movement was subtle, controlled, like the twitching of a cat's tail before it pounced- but tonight, the repeated metallic clink of gold against ceramic was rapidly setting fire to Nancy's frayed nerves.

"What's on your mind?" she asked again.

Setting his mug aside, Frank spread his hands out palm-down on the railing, pressing his fingers lightly against the wood as though to hold them still. Characteristically, he came right to the point. "How do you feel about working for Vanessa?"

"We're all adults, Frank. I don't think it will be an issue. Do you disagree?"

Frank shrugged.

 _What is he not saying?_ Nancy wondered. _Does he not trust me to be professional? Does he not trust Vanessa?_

Aloud, she said "If you don't want to do this, you really shouldn't have told Joe- "

"No, no. I'm all in," he assured her hastily.

 _Have I ever actually heard him voice an opinion of Vanessa Bender?_

"We don't usually spend much time with the client," she said neutrally, probing for a reaction.

"As Aunt Gertrude would say, thank heaven for small mercies," Frank said. He took a sip of his coffee. "I never liked her," he said bluntly. "That's what you're fishing for, right?"

"Forewarned is forearmed," Nancy said. "I never knew her well, and I'd like to know what I'm getting into."

Out on the quiet, dew-dampening lawn, the first few fireflies blinked.

"She was bad for him," Frank said finally. "To be fair, I think he was bad for her, too. But he had a lot of shit to work through back then. He was in no shape to be in a relationship, especially with someone like her. She..." He hesitated, obviously attempting to shape his feelings into words. "She pulled him away from his family and his friends at a time when he needed us. She encouraged all his most self-destructive impulses. She's self-centered and a little vain, and she can be manipulative. But she's also intelligent, funny, and very talented at reading people."

"Hence the manipulation," Nancy said softly.

Frank nodded. "Yeah." When he glanced at her, his brown eyes were steady and serious. "I do like you, Nan."

"I'm glad to hear it, considering we've been friends for most of our lives," Nancy teased.

"You know what I mean. He's better, with you. Not that he wasn't fine without you, but...oh, hell, you know what I mean."

Nancy laughed. "I get it, Frank."

Behind them, the sliding door whooshed open suddenly. Callie and Joe spilled out onto the deck in a swirl of cooler air from inside the house.

"Hey, stranger," Joe said, hopping up to sit on the railing beside Nancy.

"Hey, yourself," she retorted. "Don't tell me you two finished that whole cake already."

"No, but we did some damage to it," Joe said, looking satisfied.

"Yeah, we did," Callie said, leaning over to high-five her brother-in-law. "Thanks for not leaving me to eat cake straight off the platter like an animal all by myself."

"What are brothers for? I'll eat cake with you anytime," Joe promised.

"So, boss, when do I report for duty?" Frank asked, wrapping an arm around Callie's shoulders.

"How does Sunday morning sound?" Joe suggested. "That gives us all day tomorrow to get packed and prepped."

"Sure. It's short notice, but I think I can swing it," Frank said. "You'll work out the details with Vanessa?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting for his brother's nod.

"Yeah, I'll handle it. In the meantime, you should give Collig a call about taking some leave."

"Should you be using up leave time now?" Nancy asked Frank. That had not occurred to her earlier.

"It's fine. I have a lot saved up," he assured her.

"More than he can realistically use," Callie seconded.

Nancy swallowed the last of her coffee and leaned lightly against Joe. It was fully dusk, now, and firefly constellations spangled the treeline. When he rested a hand on her shoulder, she shivered.

"Cold?" he murmured.

Nancy shook her head. The shiver which had passed through her had nothing to do with temperature, and everything to do with his touch. Light and brief as it had been, it had nevertheless stirred up a faint, delicious ripple of awareness and need, an echo of the desire they had felt that afternoon. The look in Joe's eyes, a fire banked but still burning, told her that he had felt it too.

"Ready to head home?" she asked softly.

He nodded and hopped down from his perch on the railing. "Ready."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Electricity

Author's Note: So much gratitude to Melbel1, Severedwasp, Rain From Nowhere, Cherylann Rivers, Fernweh, sm2003495, BMSH, max2013, Drumboy100, Caranath, and Guests for their reviews on the last chapter. It is always a delight to hear from you.

I *think* this is still a T rating. Enjoy!

For Nancy, the ride home that evening was exhilarating. She felt borne along on a rising tide of relief, anticipation, and excitement, and both her own fluttering pulse and the impatient roar of the motorcycle beneath them seemed to echo her emotions.

Only upon reaching their apartment did she discover that Joe's enthusiasm had flagged. He tugged off his helmet and swung himself slowly off the bike, fumbling for his phone with a show of reluctance which Nancy, had she not known him as well as she did, might have suspected was put on for her benefit- a carefully-staged performance, designed to reassure the current girlfriend that calling the ex-girlfriend was no tempting prospect.

"I should've made Frank call her before we left," he grumbled.

"Would you like me to do it?" Despite the tension suddenly gnawing inside her chest, Nancy kept her tone light. She remembered her own feelings the first time she had needed to consult Ned about a case post-breakup; and she remembered, also, with a surge of distaste, her encounter with Ned only that morning. There really was no easy way to navigate contact with an ex.

"You're not supposed to offer. You're supposed to tell me to stop sulking and make the call," Joe said, half-laughing at the ridiculousness of his own demand. He never could stay grouchy for long.

The twist of tension in Nancy's chest released. "Make the call, Hardy."

He was already dialing. He bent, scooped a small pine cone off the grass beside the driveway, and lobbed it at her good-naturedly. Grinning, Nancy dodged it and darted toward the door.

The air inside seemed even hotter than the air outside had been. Nancy made a quick circuit of the apartment, throwing windows open as wide as possible in the hope of letting in even the hint of a breeze. She felt stifled. Had it been this humid all day?

 _It's going to storm_ , Nancy realized, wrenching at an especially stubborn window. As though she had called it into being, thunder rumbled, soft and distant.

 _I hope Joe comes in before it rains._ She lifted the curtain and glanced out. Joe was still pacing up and down the driveway, phone pressed to his ear, his face schooled into the patient mask he used when dealing with especially frustrating clients.

Nancy let the curtain drop back into place.

 _He used to like her enough to sleep with her,_ she thought, and stopped herself. _Bess, she told herself firmly. I need to check on Bess._

...

Nancy had not checked her phone since before dinner. She expected to find a barrage of updates from George and lamentation from Bess, and was surprised to discover exactly one message awaiting her attention: an affectionate, rambling voicemail from Hannah, who had called to say hello and to confirm their standing Saturday lunch date.

Nancy stared at the phone, uneasy and undecided. A silent Bess was rarely good news- but would it be kinder to contact her and risk raking up the whole grievance again, or let her be?

In the end, after having composed and deleted three separate messages to Bess, Nancy opted for the simplest solution and called George.

"Nance, I was literally just texting you," George said, without preamble.

Being well used to her friend's blunt manners, Nancy did not waste any time in teasing _Hello to you too, how are you, Nancy? Fine, thanks for asking, George._ She simply sighed into the phone and asked "How is she?"

"She is..." George sighed, too. "She's at whatever stage of grief it is when you bake a shitload of cookies while calling the guy at least five times to shriek 'fuck you' and hang up."

"Anger. Definitely anger."

George groaned. "Isn't that, like, the first stage? How many more are there?"

Disregarding this, Nancy cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and used both hands to push the bedroom window open.

"Is she still there with you?" she asked, casting an evaluating glance up at the rapidly-darkening sky. "Do you want me to come over?"

"No, she went home. She wants to keep things normal for the girls."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, thank whatever gods you like, her mom is spending the day with her. I don't think I could handle another day like today."

Nancy bit back a wry laugh. Neither Bess's situation nor George's predictable exasperation and emotional overload were funny, of course; it was just the way George said it.

"I'm sorry, George. If it would help you out, I can take the cookies over to Chet's garage. He and Jay will eat them."

"I doubt it. They're disgusting."

This time Nancy felt no impulse to laugh. She blinked in shocked silence. Bess had never made inedible cookies in her life.

"So, listen," George said, after a moment. "We're investigating this prick, right? Where do we start?"

"Are you sure we should get in the middle of th- "

George interrupted. "It's Bess. I was never not in the middle of this."

"You're right."

"Damn right I'm right. So? Where do we start?"

Nancy hesitated. She had considered this, off and on, over the course of the evening, and had concluded that the odds of Tom breaking down and confessing everything to Bess were pretty high. But she also knew that George's peace of mind would be greatly improved by taking action, and she did have a few ideas...

"C'mon," George coaxed, evidently mistaking Nancy's pondering for reluctance. "I know you've already thought about this. Give me something."

"Okay," Nancy said. "I do have a job for you. Recon, maybe some light infiltration. You know the Bay View Motel?"

George snorted. "Yeah, I'm familiar. Bit sleazy for Tom's taste, though, don't you think? I mean, the place actually has a negative-star Yelp rating- "

Nancy cut in. "I know. Just call it a hunch. I'd check it out myself, but the desk clerk there recognizes me."

"I'm on it."

"Talk to the staff, look around. Get a look at the guest records on the computer, if you can. You could take Burt along."

"Very funny, Drew."

"For backup!"

"Uh-huh."

"Hey, if sleazy is what turns you on..." Nancy let the teasing fade away. Her mind was racing. "It might be worth checking on Myra's preschool, too. Maybe someone on staff there is 'N,' or maybe Tom let something slip to a teacher or another parent at drop-off or pick-up. Oh, and there's Tom's job to think about. We need to get an employee roster for the company and go through that for 'N' names. She could be anyone, though. Literally anyone. A coworker, a teacher, a babysitter, a waitress, a mail carrier, a random woman he met online...or even a man, George, I should've thought of that sooner! Though maybe not, based on the necklace he bought. But we can't rule it out. I think we should even- "

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," George protested. "That's enough to start with. I'll do some poking around online tonight and hit up the Bay View in the morning."

George hung up, ending the conversation as abruptly as it had begun.

Joe was still outside, still on the phone.

 _What could they possibly have to talk about for this long? I thought he was just confirming our arrival time._

Nancy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, making a conscious effort to let go of her irritation and impatience. If she wanted to work this case, she was going to have to get comfortable with Vanessa's presence.

 _Meanwhile,_ she told herself, grabbing a notepad and pen off Joe's desk, _it can't hurt to organize my thoughts about the investigations._

She was seated cross-legged on the couch, notepad balanced on one knee, utterly absorbed in her notes on the Tom conundrum, when the front door swung open and Joe stalked in, carrying a battered and dusty oscillating fan.

"Jumpin' catfish, that woman can talk!" he growled, raking his free hand through his already-tousled blond hair.

He dumped the fan on the floor and kept going without waiting for a reply- which was just as well, Nancy decided, feeling sure that a diplomatic silence would go over better than any of the responses which came to mind. She tucked her pen into the notepad's spiral binding and waited. A few moments later Joe reappeared, carrying two glasses of water and looking slightly less like one of the thunderclouds outside.

"What did she say?" Nancy asked calmly.

Joe handed her one of the glasses and folded himself onto the other end of the couch. He was still fully dressed in his motorcycle gear, minus the helmet, and must have been sweltering, because he took a long drink from his own glass before answering.

"Among other things, she said that there will be a cabin ready for us by Sunday morning, and that she and Vince will be around to brief us when we arrive." He took another long swallow and set his empty glass on the coffee table.

"You told her to expect all three of us?"

"Yep. Three detectives for the price of two." He had stripped off his jacket, now, and was beginning to unlace his boots, but he looked up when Nancy spoke. She watched his expression shift from neutral to curious and became suddenly aware of how defensive her own posture had become.

"Then we just have to pack!" she said lightly, uncrossing her legs and lowering the notepad which she had been clasping loosely to her chest.

"And decide on undercover identities." The second boot clunked to the floor. Joe bounced up restlessly and retrieved the fan from the floor near the door.

"Look what I found in the garage," he said. As bids to change the subject went, it was fairly transparent; but Nancy decided to go along with it.

"Does it work?" she asked skeptically.

"I don't see why not." Joe's voice was muffled. He had reached behind the couch, in search of a free outlet.

"Anything yet?" he called.

The fan whirred to life, rustling the pages of Nancy's notepad. She dropped her phone on top to pin them down. "It's on!" she called.

Joe emerged looking delighted. "I can't believe I forgot I had that."

"I can believe it," Nancy said playfully. "It was probably buried under motorcycle parts out there."

"Oh, we're going there, are we?"

"We're going there."

Joe had sprawled at the other end of the couch, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze. Now he sat up and directed a mock scowl her way. "There may be more parts off the old girl right now than on her, but I don't throw them around willy-nilly- "

"Willy-nilly?" Nancy echoed, smirking.

"Don't pick on my vocabulary. It's all Aunt Gert's fault."

"Excuses, excuses."

"What's with the notebook?" Joe asked, changing the subject again.

Nancy glanced down at it. "I wanted to write down a few ideas."

"You can take a night off, Nan. We're going to have to go over everything again with Frank, anyway."

Nancy shrugged. "I know."

"Lots of ideas?" he asked, nodding understandingly.

"They're coming on like gangbusters," Nancy said, teasing him with another Gertrude-ism.

Her self-satisfaction lasted only a moment before Joe retaliated by plucking her notepad off her lap. When she made a bid to get it back, he captured her, winding an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"I wasn't done with that!" she protested, wriggling. Joe's arm only tightened around her middle.

"First you make fun of me, then you forget to say please," he said, shaking his head gravely.

"I know. I'm terrible."

"Are you going to make it up to me?"

"I can try," Nancy murmured. Abandoning her efforts to free herself, she leaned in slowly, pressing her breasts into his chest and brushing the merest promise of a kiss against his smiling mouth. The moment she felt him respond, she tugged the notepad from his loosened grip and dove back to her own end of the couch.

"Damn it!" Joe griped, laughing.

Nancy blew him a kiss over the top of the page. "That was too easy, Hardy."

"Oh? I can definitely make things harder for you, Drew."

His voice had slipped into that rough tone, dark with promises, that she found nearly impossible to resist. For a moment she considered getting back into his lap, letting those strong arms encircle her, and giving in for real this time. Then she gathered up the shreds of her willpower and planted her bare foot against his abs to hold him back.

"Keep your innuendos and your muscles over there for a minute," she said sternly. "I'm not finished. I only got as far as my thoughts on the Tom case."

"How is Bess?" Joe asked, settling himself obligingly onto his designated couch cushion. He gathered Nancy's feet into his lap as he did so and held them there, idly stroking the delicate skin in the hollow of one ankle.

"About as you'd expect," she replied, wondering whether she should pull her feet away. There was no way his touch was really as innocent as he was pretending. "George said she's spending time with her mother tomorrow."

"I wish we could do more."

"I know. And we will."

Thunder rumbled, louder this time, filling the momentary silence between them. A fitful gust of humid air made the living room curtains billow wildly. Nancy sighed, took out her pen, and flipped to a fresh page.

"What I'd like to do is start listing what we know about the camp case and compiling some background data. Do you think I should wait for Frank?"

"You've worked with him before. What do you think he's doing right now?"

"Research," Nancy admitted.

"Exactly." His wandering fingers ventured higher, trailing softly up her calf and back to the ankle. "Remind me again why I wanted to work this case with both of you nerds?"

"You're complaining, but your face looks like you just won the lottery."

Joe grinned openly. "Fine. I love working with both of you nerds. Where do you want to start?"

Nancy was already typing a search query into her phone's web browser. "The boyfriend."

"Vince?"

"Vincent Salvatore Luttrell, according to the county property tax records," Nancy said absently, tapping her pen against her lower lip as she read.

Joe's hand skated higher up her leg as he leaned in to peer at her phone screen. "He bought the property. Why would he vandalize his own business?"

"I don't know, Joe. I'm just being thorough. Why did he buy that specific property? Did he have any prior connection with it?" Absently, she handed her phone off to Joe, freeing her hands for jotting down the man's birthdate. She made some quick mental calculations and looked up, shaking her head.

"He would've been a kid when those girls went missing."

"Okay, so he's probably not personally involved. There could still be a family connection," Joe said, scrolling. After a moment, he returned the phone, its screen displaying the resort website with its list of amenities.

"He bought the place really cheap," he started.

"No surprise there," Nancy interjected.

" - but based on the amount of work he's had done, he's sunk a small fortune into it since then."

"Again, no surprise. It was sitting vacant for decades. I can only imagine how much renovation it must have needed."

Joe nodded. "True. He bought part of an adjoining property to add on to the camp, too. We should definitely talk to the neighbors, put out feelers for any resentment or complicated history there."

Nancy nodded in her turn. "That would be the simplest explanation. Someone local with a grudge, for whatever reason- "

"Increased traffic to the area, noise, disputed lake access..." Joe suggested.

"Exactly. Something like that would be more than enough motivation for our saboteur."

"You sound disappointed," Joe teased, stroking his hand down her leg again. When he traced a fingertip lightly, suggestively, along her foot and between her toes, Nancy's foot curled reflexively and she gasped. The touch had tickled a bit, but it had also sent a spark zinging directly down her spine.

"I'm not," she said breathily.

He repeated the action, slowly, deliberately. "You want this to be connected with the missing girls."

The fan was still bathing the room with cool air, but Nancy felt suddenly prickly with heat. She sat up straighter, pulling her foot out of Joe's lap, and blurted out "Social media!"

Joe raised an eyebrow.

"If someone has a grudge, they might have left comments. We should skim the accounts."

"Sure, if he has any."

There it was: that tone again. He was not even touching her and she was still burning. Nancy swallowed hard and said "Vince doesn't seem to have any personal accounts, but the resort has all the standard ones. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. They all look pretty active and professional."

They were also, she was fairly sure, Vanessa's handiwork- but she felt disinclined to bring that up, now, with Joe's eyes locked on hers, Joe's lips pressing a decadent line of kisses along the inside of her wrist. This time, when he took her notepad, she let him. This time, when he pulled her close, she moved eagerly into his lap, clutching at handfuls of his t-shirt in a mute demand for more. One of his hands slid up to gather the clinging red-gold strands of her hair and tug, making her tip her face upward. Their lips met in a kiss as wild and sweet as summer rain.

Thunder crashed overhead. The electricity in the air was practically tangible. When Joe broke the kiss to yank his shirt over his head, Nancy half expected to see sparks.

"We'll need to get a full list of staff," he said unexpectedly, tossing the shirt away. "Not just the contractors. Reception, maintenance, lawn service, kitchen staff, activities directors..."

"Stable hands," Nancy offered.

"Lifeguards," he contributed.

Nancy pressed her lips to his collarbone, his shoulder, licking the faint taste of salt from his skin. "What happened to taking the night off?"

Without any warning, he scooped her up and deposited her on her back. He hovered over her, holding most of his weight on his forearms. "I tried, but my massive brain finds your company just as stimulating as my massive- "

Nancy pressed a hand across his lips, stifling the end of the sentence. "Why do I love you so much?" she demanded, laughing. "You're the absolute cockiest- "

"That's what I was trying to say!" he interrupted with a wink. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Taking you down a peg," she retorted, hooking a leg around his for leverage.

He tried to glare down at her in his best intimidating fashion- an effect which was largely spoiled by the laughter shining in his eyes.

"Bring it on," he growled.

There followed a fierce but brief wrestling match which ended in an abrupt thud when they both rolled off the couch. Nancy, pink-cheeked with exertion, scrambled up to straddle Joe's waist before he could get up.

"I win!" she declared.

She knew that Joe could have freed himself with ease, but he played along. He groaned theatrically and dropped his hands to the side in surrender. "Thou hast bested me, valiant warrior maiden. I beg of thee, dispatch me quickly."

"Quickly?" Nancy asked, leaning in to kiss him again, deeply and without haste. She pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to be dispatched very, very slowly?"

"Fuck, Nan." He was reaching for her, his hands spanning her ribs, her waist, curling forcefully at the curve of her hips; pulling her body flush against his own, bucking up beneath her with more urgency than finesse.

"I don't think you want to do it slowly right now," he panted.

She did not choose to waste her breath arguing that point. Not when she was already half-breathless with desire. Not when her mouth could be better occupied kissing him until they were both dizzy as well as breathless. Nancy closed her eyes and sank into the sensations: the air, thick and humid now that they were below the fan's level; Joe's hands on her body, his body between her thighs; hot skin sliding slickly against hot skin. When the thunder boomed again it was loud enough to fill the room, loud enough that she felt its vibrations in her chest.

What little clarity she still possessed was nagging at her, telling her to stop grinding against him like an experimenting teenager and get the rest of his clothes off. She sat up and got as far as releasing the button of his jeans before his hands were tightening on her waist again, pulling her closer and making her arch in mindless pleasure.

"We have all night, baby. Don't stop."

Nancy braced her hands on his thighs and let her head tip back in surrender.

"Just like that," Joe growled. "Fuck. Fuck, yes, don't stop. God, you're gorgeous. I love watching you."

And then, disconcertingly, he went still.

Nancy's eyes flew open. "Joe? What is it?"

His answering groan sounded more frustrated than aroused. "I just remembered the Queen."

To Nancy, in her lust-fogged state, this meant nothing. "I'm sure Her Majesty will understand," she said, tugging at his jeans again.

"No, it's just- knowing Chet, he left all the windows down, and there's a storm coming." Joe sat up and then stood in one effortless, athletic motion, taking Nancy with him.

"I knew it. You let me win," she sighed.

"I was pretty sure I was the winner," Joe said, kissing her. "Damn Chester and his goddamn jalopy. I'm really sorry, Nan."

Nancy slipped down to land lightly on her own feet. She felt disheveled and breathless and more than a little frustrated, but her head had cleared enough for her to say "We should go, then. Before it rains."

"Yeah," he agreed. "We should."

He did not move. Neither did she. She was still close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to appreciate the clean lines of muscle highlighted by the slight sheen of sweat on his skin. Close enough to hook her fingers into the waistband of the unbuttoned jeans which hung low on his hips and pull him in for another kiss.

Another loud peal of thunder broke them apart.

"This isn't over," Joe promised, stumbling a few steps backward.

"I know." Nancy handed him his shirt. "Come on. The sooner we get back, the better."

...

They were, as it turned out, just in time. The swollen clouds overhead burst just as Nancy pulled her roadster alongside Chet's beloved jalopy in the mostly-empty gym parking lot.

"Good timing!" Joe said happily. "See you at home, Nan."

"Not at the Mortons'?"

"Our place is closer. Besides, it's not like Chet's going anywhere tonight," he pointed out. With that, he bounded out into the rain.

Back in their own driveway several minutes later, Nancy followed suit, scrambling out of her own car and into the Queen, breathless and rain-spattered.

"Hi," she said. "Ugh. The seat is damp."

"So are you," Joe pointed out, laughing.

"I know. It's really coming down out there."

Joe reached over and brushed a damp tendril of hair off her cheek. "Deja vu," he commented.

"Yes." Nancy smiled, remembering the night to which he was referring.

"You know, Frank's not home tonight, and I could use some company," Joe said, over the rattle of the rain pelting the windshield. "Want to come in for a cup of coffee and some dry clothes?"

Nancy played along. "That does sound tempting. I haven't seen you in so long; it would be nice to catch up."

"Perfect," he said. He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

"Wait," Nancy blurted, deviating from the script. She bit her lip and looked up at him through half-lowered lashes, making a show of hesitating. "I don't know. I've always been taught that nice girls don't go home with young men," she murmured.

His eyes darkened with understanding and approval. "It's just coffee, Miss Drew," he said. His voice was soft, persuasive. Dangerous.

Nancy shivered- partly from the chill of the raindrops evaporating off the bare skin of her arms and legs, and partly from the intensity of the need building between them. I've never been good at resisting danger.

Lighting forked across the sky. Thunder rolled, filling her senses. The rain lashed the side of the car, wind-driven, furious. Nancy looked up again and shook her head.

"Maybe it starts out as 'just coffee,' " she said, letting innocence and curiosity color her tone, "but who knows where it might end?"

The question had hardly left her lips before Joe was sliding closer, pressing her back against the seat and forcing her chin up with one strong hand. Heat blossomed beneath her skin, radiating out from that point of contact. He bent his head, and she closed her eyes, expecting a kiss which never came. Instead he stopped scant millimeters away and spoke eight simple words: "Tell me you don't want to find out."

He could not have said anything sexier. Nancy swayed into him, exhaling shakily, twining her fingers in the rain-damp collar of his shirt.

"Oh," she gasped, overwhelmed with sensation- his teeth nipping at her neck, his hand caressing her breast. "If I really were a virtuous maiden, I'd be safer- oh! yes, there- taking my chances in the storm than accepting a ride from you."

Joe grinned a rather predatory grin. But he also pulled back, slightly, and raised her hand to his lips to press a tender kiss to her palm.

"I'm glad you're you," he said, kissing the other palm for good measure. "I'm glad you did accept a ride. I love you, Nan."

"I love you, too."

There was no need for words after that. All pretense dropped away, leaving only two bodies, two souls, alone and adrift in their haven of warmth and protection in the storm- an isolation which would have been seductive all on its own, even without the influence of their previous state of arousal. The whole world was reduced to lips and skin and need, his hand working between her thighs, their lips meeting in kiss after decadent kiss...

And then lightning flashed, painting the whole scene like a photo negative, and Nancy remembered where they were. She pulled back.

"Wait," she whispered. "We're not having sex in Chet's car."

Joe groaned. "Why not? We wouldn't be the first ones."

"What?"

"I'm serious!" Joe rummaged on the floor by her feet for a moment and sat up, holding something aloft in triumph: a pair of pink and lacy bikini-style panties.

"I found this when I was rolling up the windows earlier. Either Chet's fashion sense has taken a turn for the feminine, or someone's been banging in here."

"That still doesn't mean we have to," Nancy said, as firmly as possible through her laughter.

"Fine. Race you inside, then," Joe challenged.

Nancy lunged for her door handle. "You're on."

"Wait!" he yelped. "Let me just- there." He draped the underwear carefully, decoratively, over the steering wheel. Then he turned back to Nancy with his most wicked grin. "On your marks...get set...go!"

Afterwards, Nancy would maintain that she had won. In the moment, neither of them cared about the contest. They tumbled into the apartment nearly on top of one another, laughing and dripping rainwater. Mirth quickly gave way to passion. Nancy pushed the door closed and allowed Joe to crowd her against it, lifting her, fitting his hips between her thighs in a way that instantly rekindled the aching, burning need she had tamped down earlier.

"Please," she breathed.

 _Before we get interrupted again_ , was what she meant to say. _Before the universe finds another excuse to pull us apart._ And though she lacked the breath to finish her thought, Joe seemed both to understand, and to share her urgency. Their bodies moved together with a kind of elemental elegance, their rhythm a primal counterpoint to the storm lashing against the door at her back. It was fast and rough, overwhelming in the best way; and it was, Nancy thought, as she surrendered to the first wave of pleasure, well worth the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: In the Dark, Revisited

...

The light lancing through the crack in the door overhead grew dim and finally went out. She sat in the dark, on the tight-packed earthen floor, cold seeping into her bones from the rough stone wall at her back, and waited.

At some point she jolted awake from an unintended doze, scrambling to her feet and crying out "Who's there?" into the darkness.

There was no answer. No sound of movement. No tell-tale breath sounds in the darkness. She was still alone.

Gradually she let her fists drop. Her limbs were trembling, her heart racing, system awash with residual adrenaline.

 _I have to get out of here._

In a burst of panic she rushed up the stairs and threw her body against the unyielding wooden doors, battering them over and over without regard for the pain.

Finally the adrenaline burned itself out. She sat on the bottom step, cradling her bruised shoulder, and let a few silent tears stream down her cheeks.

 _You know better,_ she thought accusingly. _Stop acting like this is the first tight spot you've been in. No more panicking._

She brushed away the wetness on her face roughly, impatiently, and took a deep breath. Rose. Paced to the far wall and back, thinking. She was beginning to feel angry, now, and anger was good. She could use anger.

Another deep breath.

"Okay," she said aloud. "Your first job is to survive. That means no more using yourself as a battering ram. It's a waste of energy, and you risk getting injured."

She continued pacing, rubbing her arms absently. She was beginning to feel cold again- another reminder of her body's vulnerability.

"Your second job is to escape," she said with determination. "Preferably before those men come back."

 _Or before dehydration sets in_ , she added silently. The thought sent a cold tendril of fear snaking up the back of her neck. Shaking it off impatiently, she made another circuit of her prison, trailing a hand along the walls this time; feeling for moisture, and finding none.

 _But it's not a problem, because I'm going to get out. I'm not going to die down here._

"Find a way, or make one," she whispered into the darkness. "I am not going to die here."

 _How's that for a mantra, George?_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Secrets and Plans

...

A prolonged series of banging sounds awoke Nancy the next morning. She jolted upright before she was fully conscious.

"That wasn't thunder," she gasped.

"No," Joe agreed. He was already on his feet and heading for the doorway. In the grey and watery early-morning light Nancy could see the knife in his hand gleaming dully.

The noise sounded again. This time they both recognized it for what it was: a veritable Symphony for Knuckles and Locked Door, performed by someone either very pissed off or very frightened.

"Open up!" a voice yelled over the pounding. "It's raining!"

The release of tension in the room was almost palpable. Nancy let her arms, which had reflexively risen to cover her bare breasts, fall to her sides, and Joe laughed as he turned and replaced the knife in its usual spot beneath his pillow.

"I think Chet found my surprise."

The knocking picked up again.

"COME ON, JOE. I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"

"Go let him in before Mrs. Graf calls in a noise complaint!" Nancy ordered.

"Or you could go. He'd be nicer to you."

"I'M GETTING SOAKED OUT HERE, YOU TURD. LET ME IN OR I'LL BREAK THE DOOR DOWN!" Chet bellowed.

"I'm naked, and you provoked him," Nancy pointed out. "Go!"

"Fine," Joe said, sighing exaggeratedly. He paused with his hand on the bedroom doorknob. "On one condition."

"Let me guess," Nancy said dryly. "You want me to still be naked when you get back?"

"JOSEPH FREAKING HARDY, LET ME IN!"

"Bingo."

"I'll think about it. Now go!"

Nancy playfully threw her pillow at him and he fled, wrapping the rumpled bedsheet around his hips kilt-fashion as he went.

...

The rain which had started last night was still falling, lashing against the roof and veining the bedroom window with thick rivulets of water. On the other side of the bedroom door the rumble of masculine voices rose and fell, Chet's outraged tones punctuated by Joe's attempts to soothe him, but it all seemed very far away in contrast to the bedroom's peaceful ambience. Nancy rolled over onto Joe's pillow, stretched, and sighed with contentment, luxuriating in the remaining sheet's delicious smoothness against her skin.

 _Maybe I will still be naked when he gets done talking to Chet,_ she thought dreamily, skimming one hand lightly up the contours of her own body- the long taut line of her thigh and the ridge of her pelvic bone, the concave arc of her waist and the convex swell of her breast; brushing lightly over her nipple, pressing along the line of her clavicle, and coming to rest with her palm flat against her sternum, fingertips stroking softly against the hollow at the base of her throat. She sighed again, and it was almost a moan.

 _I could just lie here, she thought. I could close my eyes and drift until he comes back._

The idea had a certain hedonistic allure. Unfortunately, Nancy already knew she would not be giving in to it. Her body might be whispering "stay awhile," but her brain was alert and clamoring like a roomful of journalists at a press conference. Regretfully, resignedly, Nancy sat up and reached for her phone.

One glance at the screen banished any remaining vestige of drowsiness. The floodgates had opened: the barrage of texts from Bess she had been anticipating had arrived during the night, along with one from George and one from Ned, of all people. Nancy read George's first- a terse promise to report in full in the morning- ignored Ned's, and opened Bess's.

 _1:38 AM_  
 _I know you're probably sleeping, cherie, but-_

 _1:38 AM_  
 _We talked. He keeps telling me "the whole thing was a big mistake."_

 _1:39 AM_  
 _Like_

 _1:39 AM_  
 _What the actual FUCK?! Does he think I don't know that?!_

 _1: 40 AM_  
 _Anyway...please tell me you found out something. Anything. He won't tell me her name and it's killing me._

 _1:45 AM_  
 _She's gorgeous, right? Super skinny? Tell me EVERYTHING._

 _1:55 AM_  
 _No, wait, don't_

 _1: 57 AM_  
 _Damn it. Tell me._

 _2:17 AM_  
 _anyway wtf does he mean it was a mistake? A mistake is buying the wrong brand of paper towels or putting on mismatched socks, not whatever this was...god, Nance, I feel so stupid_

 _2:18 AM_  
 _he offered to leave & get a hotel room for the night but I said no because if he leaves how do I know he's not meeting up with her?_

 _2:20 AM_  
 _WAIT A MINUTE_

 _2:20 AM_  
 _NANCY_

 _2:20 AM_  
 _Should I let him go, so you can, like, shadow him? Is this a good strategy? Whyyyyyy are you sleeping?! TEXT ME BACK!_

 _3:03 AM_  
 _I'm sorry babe. You should be sleeping. Talk tomorrow xoxoxo_

With shaking fingers, Nancy typed out a reply. _I'm so sorry, Bess. I promise I'm here for you and I'm working on this. We'll get you some answers._

She understood George's need for action, now. This was heart-wrenching.

The remaining text notification on her screen was bothering her. Nancy glared at it and then opened her browser instead in order to run a search for Tom's place of work. She scanned the employee directory page and jotted down the names of five women and three men whose names or possible nicknames began with N. Then she returned, with reluctance, to Ned's message.

 _Nancy. I'm so sorry for accosting you like that. I shouldn't have said what I said. Maybe we can get coffee sometime and I can explain? My treat, of course. Let me know._

Nancy stared at it for a long moment. Hit "delete message." Then, suddenly, she giggled.

"Ned Nickerson starts with N," she said out loud.

The idea was too ridiculous. Nevertheless, she added his name to the list before setting her notepad and phone aside. Mental action was no longer enough for her; the bed's comfort had turned cloying, and she needed to be up and doing. Nancy rose, showered quickly, and left the bedroom, eager to join in on the activities of the day.

As she had expected, she found Joe and Chet in the kitchen. Joe was sitting on the counter, drinking a cup of coffee, while Chet alternately stirred a pan of scrambled eggs and gesticulated wildly with the spatula to underscore the main points of whatever story he was telling. Nancy dodged the utensil's trajectory and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

"Good morning!" she said.

"Watch it, Nan. He's lethal with that thing," Joe said lazily.

"Sorry," Chet apologized sheepishly. "I didn't see you come in."

Nancy waved the apology away. "How's your shoulder?"

"Much better, but they want me to wear this dumb sling for two weeks. I don't think I'll need it for that long."

"Don't you get all macho about it," Nancy scolded. "I'm sure your doctor had a good reason for wanting you to wear it for that long."

"Yeah, but my doctor doesn't have a shop full of vehicles to get under," Chet grumbled.

"Not to mention Ms. Pink-and-lacy," Joe teased. "Or is it the other way around, with her?"

Chet, who had just handed Joe a plate of eggs, glared witheringly. "Ha ha," he deadpanned.

"Oh, come on, man. That was funny."

"You're seriously going to sit there naked and- "

"Not naked," Joe pointed out, patting his sheet-covered thigh.

"Naked," Chet repeated firmly. He shook his spatula for emphasis. "You're going to sit there, naked, and slut-shame me?"

Nancy tried to pass off her laughter as a coughing fit. Chet swung around and narrowed his eyes at her, as though trying to decide whether to glower at her as well.

"You know I'd never do that," Joe said. His face was the picture of injured innocence. "It's the complete opposite. I'm proud of you. Our little Chester finally turned in his v-card."

"Just because some of us didn't give it up in middle school," Chet sputtered.

"Hey, now who's slut-shaming?"

Chet rolled his eyes and turned back to his breakfast preparations. "Toast, anyone? Fair warning, it's a little scorched. Your toaster sucks."

Nancy slid into a seat at the table, cradling her mug of coffee. "Everything in this place is coming apart."

"Pal, we could put you down in a half-bombed field kitchen in the middle of a war zone and you'd still serve up the best damn scrambled eggs I've ever had," Joe said affectionately. He gulped down the last of his coffee, set aside his plate, and hopped lightly off the counter, nearly losing his makeshift kilt in the process.

"I'm gonna jump in the shower. Thanks for breakfast," he said, snagging a piece of toast and raising it in a salute to his friend on his way out of the kitchen.

"Thanks again for picking up the Queen," Chet called after him. He sighed and sat down across from Nancy. "Or should I thank you for that?"

"No, that was all Joe," Nancy admitted.

"Did you want some eggs? It's no trouble."

"No, thank you. Don't get up," Nancy said quickly. "I'm in the mood for some peanut butter toast."

Chet re-settled himself comfortably at the table. Nancy rose and dropped two slices of whole-grain bread into the toaster.

"The trick is to force it to pop up before it thinks it should," she said, to alleviate the awkward silence which threatened to descend. "There's something wrong with the timer."

Chet disregarded this. "I'm sorry," he said. "About waking you, I mean. Dad wanted to drop me off to get my car before work."

"I understand. Farmers' days start early," Nancy assured him.

"Yeah, but the door thing wasn't cool. I wasn't thinking. It's just..."

His voice trailed off. Nancy finagled her toast out of the toaster and spread peanut butter carefully on each slice, waiting. It was always best not to push Chet. He closed up under pressure.

"My dad saw it. The, um, underwear, I mean. On my steering wheel."

There is was. Nancy understood his irritation, now. The Mortons were some of the kindest people she knew, but they were also strict and old-fashioned. She could only imagine how Chet's father would have reacted to seeing that dainty, provocative garment on display in his son's car.

"Did you tell him it was just Joe's idea of a joke?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not a hundred percent sure he bought it. He looked suspicious."

"I'm sure he's not," Nancy said soothingly. "That's just your guilty conscience talking."

Chet stabbed at the eggs on his plate. "Gee, Nancy, thanks for the pep talk," he said sarcastically.

Nancy laughed. "I'm sorry, Chet. I wouldn't be teasing if I thought you were really in trouble."

"You wouldn't be teasing if you had to go home and get interrogated about it," Chet said, refusing to be comforted. He sighed and reached for another slice of toast. "And look, I know I'm too old to care what my parents think, but I don't like to rock the boat. They've been through enough."

"I get it," Nancy said softly. She paused, then arched an eyebrow at him. "Tell me about this mystery woman, though. I assume things are going well?"

Chet actually blushed. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and then looked up, smiling despite himself. "Yeah. Things are really good."

She did not press him for further information. He finished his eggs in silence, washed the pan and his and Joe's plates despite her assurance that it was not necessary, and then lingered, looking uncomfortable.

"If Joe asks, tell him either Jay or I will probably be at the garage all afternoon, but if we're not, he knows where the spare key is," he said. "He wants to bring his bike by for a tune-up before you leave."

Nancy nodded. "I'll pass it along."

Still Chet hesitated.

"He didn't really lose his virginity in middle school," he blurted out suddenly.

"I know, Chet." He lost it in high school, to Vanessa- which was not an image Nancy particularly wanted to conjure up right now.

"Right. Yeah, no, of course you know that." He was blushing again. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rubbed at the back of his neck again, and finally muttered "Okay. See you later."

He let himself out. A moment later Nancy heard the jalopy's engine sputter and cough before breaking into its familiar throaty rumble. She took a sip of coffee and smiled to herself at the thought of sweet, awkward Chet driving away with a pair of lacy panties stuffed into his jeans pocket.

"It's a funny old world, as Hannah would say," she said softly.

Without Chet and Joe, the room seemed very quiet. Nancy finished her toast in thoughtful silence and then rose to pour herself a second cup of coffee. It was really too warm for the beverage, despite the rain and the cooling effect of her still-damp hair, but she was already feeling the loss of sleep.

 _Not that last night wasn't worth it._ But that, on top of everything... Foregoing sleep in favor of more interesting and mutually-satisfying activities was one thing. She could cope with that. But this recurring dream and the resulting almost-nightly interruption of sleep was wearing her down.

Nancy rolled her shoulders, easing the tension from the muscles. She was an intelligent girl. She knew why this childhood dream had resurfaced now, and could even pinpoint the date of its return: early June, the week before Frank and Callie's big wedding, right after-

 _Don't,_ she thought tiredly, getting up to rinse her mug. _It'll pass. It always does. There's no point lingering with the ghost of an old grief._

Moving briskly, now, Nancy headed back toward the bedroom. The shower was still running, but the bathroom door was open, so she stepped over the discarded sheet lying on the threshold and entered the room.

"Hey, lady, this ain't a free show!" Joe called from behind the curtain.

"As if I could see anything through all this steam," Nancy retorted. "I'm actually not here to ogle you, anyway. I have a message from Chet."

Joe poked his head out, crowned with suds. "What's up?"

Nancy relayed their friend's message. Joe listened, nodded, and withdrew behind the curtain.

"Thanks. He felt bad about waking you, by the way."

"I know. He apologized." Nancy leaned back against the sink. "You didn't tell him about last night, did you? The part involving his car, I mean."

His head reappeared, sans shampoo this time. "Give me a little credit, Nan. I like riling Chet up as much as the next guy, but I'm not going to use our private business to do it."

This time his withdrawal was accompanied by a bump and a clatter- his elbow knocking her conditioner off the narrow shelf, she guessed- and a muttered profanity.

"Speaking of private business," Nancy said, after a moment, "did he tell you his girlfriend's name?"

"He did. It's Nova!"

Nancy's eyes widened. "Nova Bates?"

"The one and only." The water shut off and Joe stepped out, reaching for his towel. "Why so surprised?"

"Lots of reasons- but, Joe, Nova starts with N!" Nancy shook her head at her own statement. "That's ridiculous. Nova wouldn't do that to Bess. Right?"

"I don't know. Tom is pretty irresistible."

"Be serious. I'm going to have to add her to my list."

Joe hung up his towel. "How is Bess doing?" he asked.

"She's very upset."

"We'll figure this out," Joe promised, taking a step closer.

Nancy sighed. "I know. But I can't help feeling that handing her a name isn't really going to help. How can it? Her whole life just fell apart."

"I don't think this is really about giving her a name. She just wants to know her friends are on her side."

"You're right."

"Damn right I'm right. And we are going to make that bastard apologize- no, we're gonna make him _grovel_."

Nancy smiled. "George might actually kiss you if she hears you talk like that."

"Who could blame her? Did I say Tom was irresistible, earlier? Because clearly I misspoke. I'm the irresistible one around here."

Nancy wasn't really listening anymore. She reached out to touch a livid mark just above his left hipbone. The sheet had covered it, earlier. He followed her line of sight down and grinned.

"Tzeka's gonna give me a hard time for that," he said.

"Tzeka?"

"Fletcher Tzeka? My tattoo guy," he reminded her.

"Oh, right!"

She followed him into the bedroom and, for lack of anything better to do, began stripping the fitted sheet off the bed.

"Nan," Joe said.

She glanced up. "Yes?"

"I was thinking, before you came in...Do you want to come with me?"

"To your tattoo appointment?"

His head emerged from the neck of his t-shirt. "Yeah."

Nancy tossed the bundle of dirty linens into their laundry basket and took a clean set from the closet, pondering this. She had always been curious about the process.

"Let me help with that," Joe said, grabbing a pillow and a fresh pillowcase.

"Thanks. Watch out for the giant knife my boyfriend insists on sleeping with," Nancy teased.

Joe winked. "Don't worry. I know how to handle my giant knife."

Nancy rolled her eyes at him and turned away, ostensibly to unfold the new sheet but really to hide her smile. "Do you really want me to come?" she asked.

"Tzeka's been riding my ass about helping him test out this long-lasting temporary tattoo ink he's been working on," Joe said, smoothing out his side of the sheet. "It just hit me, earlier, that you'd be a perfect guinea pig for him. I don't know what kind of undercover identity you had in mind, but a few tattoos could help round out your image, and it'd get Tzeka off my back. It's a win-win. Only if you want to, obviously."

Nancy considered this for a moment as they unfurled the bedspread and tugged it into place. The idea was intriguing, and helpful, too, inasmuch as she had not yet pinned down her incognito persona beyond a vague idea of wearing trendy but unremarkable clothing, tinting her hair a few shades darker, and disappearing into the background. But this could work, too.

"Okay," she said, thoughtfully. "Yes. Why not?"

"Awesome!" Joe grinned at her across the bed. "Okay. Let me put some pants on, and we can go get inked!"

...

Author's Note:

My apologies if the ending to this one seems abrupt. I'm in the process of moving halfway across the world- which I'm super excited about, but also a tad overwhelmed. I figured I'd cut my drafted Chapter Eight in half in the interests of both giving you all the quicker update you deserve and giving myself a cathartic moment of completion amidst the chaos.

As always, so much gratitude to all of you who read and reviewed!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Ink

Author's Note: Still with me? I am horribly sorry for making you wait.

...

"You're not nervous, are you?" Joe asked, pausing outside Black Dog Tattoo & Piercing.

Nancy glanced from the sign over the door to her own reflection in the shop window, taking in the contrast between the gothic-style lettering and her demure appearance.

"I feel conspicuous," she confessed, smoothing the skirt of her vintage sundress. "Maybe I should have dressed differently."

Joe stepped back and eyed their reflection, following her line of sight. Then he reached for her hand and gave it a gentle tug. "You look like yourself, Nan. There's nothing wrong with that."

It was, she felt, a slightly ironic thing to say to a person who was about to get fake-tattooed in order to look less like herself; but before she had time to point that out, Joe was leading her to the door.

The studio's ambience, an inviting and invigorating blend of warmth and creative energy, captivated her the moment she walked in. Nancy happily would have stood there longer, taking it all in; but Joe immediately moved forward, calling out "Sitting down on the job, Tzeka?"

Every head in the room- the young women deep in conversation behind the reception desk, the client and artist installed at one of the workstations, and the very tall, very broad man who had been reclining comfortably in a second chair, hands behind his head and elbows akimbo- turned their way.

The large man lumbered to his feet far more swiftly than Nancy had imagined possible. "Hey, brother, good to see ya!" he boomed out, clapping Joe on the back before turning toward Nancy. "And you must be our special project."

"I'm Nancy," she said, offering her hand.

"Fletcher Tzeka. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His handshake was almost painfully hearty, his gaze clear and shrewd. Nancy warmed to him immediately.

"Thank you so much for fitting me in on short notice," she said.

"Are you kidding? It's my privilege. Anything for Hardy, y'know?"

The sincerity in his voice seemed to go beyond simple bonhomie or gratitude to a good customer. Nancy wondered, for a moment, what kind of history existed between the two men; but she did not have to wonder for long, because the next moment later Fletcher turned to beckon one of his coworkers forward and exposed a familiar black, red, and white patch on the back of his vest.

 _Bikers Against Child Abuse_ , Nancy thought. _That explains it! He must belong to the same chapter as Joe._

Fletcher, meanwhile, had turned back to Joe and Nancy. "Grab a seat, Hardy," he directed. "I'll be right with you. Just gotta get your young lady set up." He draped an arm around the shoulders of the young woman who had stepped forward.

"Jenelle is our newest apprentice and a real up-and-coming talent. You're in good hands with her," he told Nancy.

Jenelle wriggled free of his arm, patting her riotous curls into place and making shoo-ing gestures at Fletcher with faux exasperation. She smiled at Nancy.

"Oh my god, I am so excited to get to do this. You have no idea," she said happily. "This is so cool. Are you really a- " here she paused and lowered her voice- "detective? What kind of case are you working on? Is it dangerous? Oh, jeez, am I allowed to ask about it?"

The other young woman pushed away from the reception desk and rolled her wheelchair toward them, her phone in one hand and a massive takeout cup of coffee in the other.

"Jen! Chill!" she admonished. "Have a seat, Nancy," she added in a kinder tone.

Jenelle closed her mouth, paused, and opened it again. "Sorry. Yes. That is totally what I meant to say."

Nancy did so, stifling her private amusement. "I'm not certain what design I'd like," she admitted.

"No problem," Jenelle assured her. "I'll grab you the book. Lourdes, can you get her started with the release forms while I grab the flash portfolio?"

The receptionist gave an exaggerated sigh and pivoted back to grab a sheaf of papers off her desk. "You're a pain in the ass," she said, without any real heat behind the words.

"You love me," Jenelle called back.

Lourdes rolled her eyes and deftly maneuvered herself over to Nancy's seat. "Okay, chica, sign here, here, and...here," she said, handing over the paperwork and catching the straw of her coffee between lips painted a shade of red so dark it was nearly black.

 _Bess would know the name of that color and the brand,_ Nancy thought.

Lourdes leaned in, evidently mistaking Nancy's momentary distraction for hesitation. "It literally just says that if you die you won't sue us or come back to haunt us," she explained kindly. "And you're not gonna die. Zero risk, chick."

"Don't say zero!" Jenelle objected from across the room.

"Hey, I didn't sign anything like that," Joe complained. His voice was slightly muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. "If I die of ink poisoning I am absolutely coming back to haunt this place."

Sure enough, the minute Joe's bite-marked skin came into view, Fletcher let out a loud guffaw. Nancy braced herself for the inevitable teasing; but the man only looked over at her and winked.

Ignoring this byplay, Lourdes raised an eyebrow at Joe. "Try it and I'll smudge the hell out of you, Hardy. I keep sage in my desk and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Please. Sage is for amateurs. If I haunt a place, you'll need a minimum of two ordained priests to exorcise me," Joe scoffed.

He was only playing, indulging in banter for the fun of it, but Nancy could see real flirtation in Lourdes' body language. Joe had that effect on women. It never meant anything to him; but that did not mean that Nancy enjoyed watching it happen, and she was mildly relieved when Jenelle interrupted.

"Guys, where's the flash book?"

"I thought Mal had it," Lourdes offered.

The other artist lay down his tattoo gun, wiped away a streak of blood and ink from his client's back, and shook his head. "Nope."

"Try out front," Fletcher suggested. He was running a disposable razor across Joe's skin in swift, practiced strokes.

"Standard procedure," Lourdes said, addressing Nancy this time. "It just, like, cleans up the area."

Nancy nodded, still watching. She had known, of course, that getting a tattoo was more than a matter of simply sitting down and getting jabbed with a needle. Now she wished she had taken the time to research the process.

"Do you know what you want?" Lourdes asked, taking another sip of coffee.

"Let her look first!" Jenelle chided. She had returned with a small binder, which she handed to Nancy.

"I am! I just meant, is this gonna be totally random, or are you, like, crafting an image?"

Jenelle peered over Nancy's shoulder and, before she could reply, reached in to tap an ornate Gothic cross twined with skulls and roses.

"That one?"

"Uh-uh. No way is that her look," Lourdes declared.

"Isn't that the point?" Jenelle countered. She turned to Nancy. "Is this," she said, with a gesture which encompassed Nancy's entire body, "what you're wearing, is this really you?"

The question was more insightful than Nancy had expected from bubbly, chatty Jenelle. She looked at the girl again, taking in the softness of her curls and her pink t-shirt, the youthfulness of the gold ring looping one nostril and the Disney princesses on her watchband, and realized that every detail of the way this young woman presented herself had been curated to highlight those characteristics. In a way, this was Jenelle's undercover identity. Nancy thought of her own father, who went off to work every morning looking distinguished and competent in his impeccable suits and ties- about Joe's disarming appearance and flirtatious manner- about herself, and the way she had hesitated outside only minutes ago, feeling self-conscious about her own appearance.

 _Everyone is "crafting an image,"_ she thought, echoing Lourdes's phrase. _Every day, in every new context, most of us do adapt the way we present ourselves._

Nancy smoothed the skirt of her dress again, in gratitude this time rather than discomfort. "Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "This is really me."

Joe spoke up again. "The key to a believable undercover persona is moderation," he said, craning his neck to look at them around Fletcher.

"Your boy 'bout to give us a TED Talk," Lourdes teased.

"You don't want to look like you're wearing a costume," he went on. "You want to be yourself, with minor variations."

Jenelle flipped a few pages and poked the book again. "That one," she said decisively.

Nancy looked. Lourdes looked. They both nodded.

"That one," Nancy agreed.

Several hours later, in the privacy of their bedroom, Nancy unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor.

Everyone- Jen, Fletcher, Mal, even Lourdes- had assured her that once set, the ink would last for at least two weeks. Nevertheless, when she ran a fingertip along the delicate Celtic knotwork bracelet curling around her right forearm, she did so gingerly, half-worried that the ink would smear.

It did not.

 _Of course it didn't,_ she chided herself, feeling foolish. She touched it again, more firmly this time. Turned her back to the mirror, craning her neck to examine the crescent moon nestling between her scapulae. Raised her arm to inspect the larger piece- an ethereal doe crowned with wildflowers- adorning her ribcage. She was not sure which was more mesmerizing: the unfamiliar swirls of ink against her pale skin, or the thrill of being someone new.

"Nan?" Joe called suddenly from the other room. "George just pulled in."

"Be right there!"

Slightly disoriented by the abrupt shift back into her everyday self, Nancy pulled her dress into place and reached for the zipper, which promptly jammed.

"Damn!" she hissed impatiently. She could hear George and Joe exchanging greetings. _If George is here, she must have something big to report,_ she thought; _and if George has something big to report, why am I wasting my time wrestling with my zipper?_

"Ugh!" Nancy muttered aloud, giving the thing one last tug. "Never mind. It's just George," she said, and hurried impatiently out into the living room.

"Hi!" she called.

George turned and her gaze faltered, shifting from Joe, who was shirtless, to Nancy, who was clutching her unzipped dress to her chest. "O-okay," she said slowly. "I'm clearly interrupting something here. I'll go."

"Don't!" Nancy said quickly.

"It's not what it looks like," Joe added. "Need a hand, Nan?"

"Please." Nancy turned her back gratefully toward Joe. "We just got home, and I was checking out my new artwork," she explained to George as Joe's deft hands coaxed her zipper up its track. She held out her arm. "Pretty realistic, isn't it?"

"Not bad," was George's verdict. "What else do you have? Don't tell me you got one of those hipster underboob flowery chandelier things."

"No, it's one of those hipster deer and flower things," Nancy said, patting her side. "Oh, and this," she added, turning and pulling her hair over one shoulder to display the crescent moon.

"I like it. It's very witchy."

"Then why are you laughing?" Nancy demanded, turning back around.

"Because I'm trying to picture Nancy Drew topless in a tattoo parlor, and it's hilarious. Can you imagine what your dad would say? Or Hannah?" George chuckled.

"They don't need to know!" Nancy said, alarmed. Inwardly, she winced. _Now I sound like Chet. Why are we all hiding things from our parents these days?_

"Don't worry, I'll leave it out of our daily chat."

"I had no idea you and Carson were so close," Joe commented.

"Oh, yeah, we're tight. We're like this," George teased, holding up a hand with the index and middle fingers crossed in illustration. Then her face grew serious. "I've got some stuff to report," she said, heading for the couch.

"I figured as much," Nancy said.

"Yeah." George sat back, looking thoughtful. "So, I went to the motel. Where's Joe? Should he sit in on this?"

Nancy looked around. Joe had faded away discreetly, doubtless to give George the space to process her thoughts on the matter.

"No, I can fill him in," she said, turning back to George.

"Okay." George pulled her feet closer to herself, giving Nancy enough space to sit down. "So, it wasn't that weird dude from before working the desk. It was a woman. Medium blonde, mid-40s? Short hair, long nails, looked bored as hell."

She paused to send a call to voicemail.

"Do you need to take that?" Nancy asked.

George shoved the phone back into her pocket. "Nope. Anyway, I showed her a picture of Tom, and you should've seen her face. It was freaking hilarious. She went from practically yawning in my face to totally pissed off. I mean she actually stood up and jabbed her finger at me and screamed in my face."

"What? Why?" Nancy was both figuratively and literally on the edge of her seat, now.

"She said...let me get this right." George sat up straight and twisted her face into an exaggerated scowl. " 'If that smug bastard thinks he can sue us and get anywhere, he's wasting his goddamn time, and you can tell him I said so!' "

George dropped out of character, grinning. "So I finally get her calmed down, right, enough to explain, at least, and it turns out that Tommy boy used to be a regular patron."

"No," Nancy breathed.

"Oh, yes. He had an arrangement with her where he'd slip her a little extra for a really clean bed. Like, not just the sheets changed, but the duvet and everything. But then, the last time he was there, he came right back to the desk complaining about the room not being clean. She got offended, because I guess she had personally checked it before he arrived, and he was offended and told her he'd take his business elsewhere, and apparently the woman he was with got involved too and threatened to sue for who the hell knows what. Mental trauma? Germs? The desk lady called her a 'snooty bitch.' " George stopped. "'You look like you're about to explode. Go on, ask your questions."

"How long ago was this? Who was the woman? Was it the same woman every time? How many times did he go there? Did she have records, credit card information, reservations on file, anything like that?" Nancy blurted out.

"I never got a chance to snoop, and she wouldn't give me anything specific. Got suspicious when I started asking more specific questions. Understandable, but annoying." George shrugged. "All I've got is that this was approximately five years ago, heavy on the approximate, so there's no telling whether they were married then or not. She described the woman as tan and blonde."

"So it could have been Bess."

"Could've been."

They were silent a moment, digesting this. Then Nancy sighed.

"It's a lead, at least."

George made a noncommittal noise in response. There was another pause.

"What if it was a wig?" Nancy asked finally.

"Why do you always have to complicate things?" George objected, half-laughing. "You could just accept it and say thank you."

"Thank you," Nancy said obediently.

George stretched, relaxed, and suddenly snorted. "Either way, he certainly has a type, doesn't he?"

"Mm-hmm," Nancy agreed. "Assertive blondes!"

"I guess it's good to know what you want."

There it was: the opening for which Nancy had been waiting. "Do you not know what you want?" she asked, gently. "Is that why you're ignoring Burt's calls?"

She could tell that George was struggling, and half expected a flippant response. But after a moment George huffed out a sigh and said "I'm ignoring his calls because I don't want to have sex with him."

"I know it's been awhile since I went on a first date, but don't they usually want to, I don't know, get coffee, or watch a baseball game?" Nancy said.

George sighed again and pushed her fingers through her already-tousled dark hair, making the curls and waves stand out in all directions. "Sure, but eventually they always want to do stuff I don't want to do, and that's the end of it. It's humiliating. It's like they're all out there thinking 'if I can't put my dick in it, why waste my time?' "

"Is that what happened with you two back then?"

"No," George admitted grudgingly. "He never pushed it. We were just kids. We knew we were both leaving for basic training soon and neither of us wanted to do the long-distance thing, so we broke up."

"So you never told him- "

"No. And that's why I can't ever go out with him." George grabbed a throw pillow and fidgeted with it, turning it over in her hands, tracing the seams. "He's a friend, Nance. I don't want him to turn into just another creep who made me feel like a defective sex toy."

"As long as you don't give him a chance, he can't disappoint you."

"Right."

"What if he doesn't disappoint you?"

George gave the pillow an especially aggressive spin. "I'll still disappoint him, either way."

"I think you might be blowing it all out of proportion- "

"That's what she said," George mumbled.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Does that joke even work there?"

"I don't know. I've never blown anything, in proportion or out," George joked. Then she grew serious again. "Sometimes I think I might, like...with the right person, I mean, if I trusted them..."

"You might be open to trying things."

George nodded. "Yeah. But I can't expect anyone to be satisfied in a relationship like that, and it's fine. It's easier to be single and focus on my other shit. Work. Family. So yeah, I'm not taking his calls."

"May I offer my perspective?" Nancy waited for her friend's nod before continuing. "I think Burt is a decent person. If you're interested in him at all, tell him up front what you just told me, and see where things go from there."

"I should've guessed your advice was going to be be honest," George grumbled, tossing the pillow at Nancy.

Nancy tossed it right back. "Find a way, or make one, Fayne."

George laughed, a real, tension-releasing laugh. "Fair enough, Drew." She stood up, clearly done with this conversation. "Tell me about your case," she said.

"I'll fill you in, if you'll help me pack," Nancy returned. "We're leaving tomorrow and I'm due to meet Hannah for a late lunch soon."

"Deal," George agreed. "Is that where Joe disappeared to?"

"I'm not sure," Nancy said, leading the way into Frank's old bedroom, where they now stored their luggage and many of their more niche items of clothing.

"It is indeed where Joe disappeared to," Joe announced, taking a step back from the open closet. "Joe has been staring into this closet for ten minutes, wondering who he is."

"Joe can stop talking in the third person, because Joe is creeping me out a little," George retorted.

Joe grinned. "Maybe that's who I am now. Maybe I'm a creepy dude who speaks in the third person."

"Do I have veto power?" Nancy inquired.

"No, I think you have to get a majority vote," he said.

"Okay, let me call Frank," she teased.

"I already did. He's coming over to pack some stuff and hash out our story," Joe said, growing serious.

"Nancy's got hers all set," George remarked. "Though I think she should've gotten a few piercings while you were there this morning, to really sell the character."

Nancy touched her simple studs self-consciously. "I wanted to get a second hole done years ago, when you got yours, George, but Hannah wouldn't let me, and I suppose I just outgrew the impulse."

"I remember. Hannah thought it would make you look cheap. Not that she came out and said it."

"Hannah is always tactful," Nancy said fondly.

"Did you know that nipple piercing was a fad in Victorian-era Paris?" Joe said. "Not that I'm suggesting you get your nipples pierced," he added hastily. "Unless you want to, in which case go for it, and I promise I won't tell Hannah."

Nancy laughed, and George made a face of disgust. "Can we not talk about Nancy's nipples? Let's see your new ink, Little Hardy."

Joe obligingly peeled away the bandage covering his new tattoo, which was a simple rose and dagger design placed just above the Beowulf quotation on his chest.

"I'll re-bandage it after Frank sees," he said, catching Nancy's look of concern.

"Very cool. Very retro," George commented.

"It's a scaled-back version of one my grandfather had," Joe offered by way of explanation. Nancy knew the image held much more meaning than that, to him. It was not only a tribute to his grandfather, but a symbol of balance: of love and loss, life and death, intention and fate. But Joe did not delve into any of that now. Instead he held out his left arm to show off the copperhead coiled there. "I got this today, too, courtesy of Nancy."

"He let me draw on him while I was waiting for Fletcher to finish up the real tattoo," Nancy explained, studying her work with a critical eye. "I'm glad it's not permanent. I'm not happy with the snake's eye."

"Looks good to me," George declared. "All right. Which one is your suitcase, Nance?"

"I'll grab it," Nancy said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Over the years, both Nancy and the Hardys had curated large and varied collections of clothing and accessories; but where Nancy's approach to her specialized items was informal, even occasionally incorporating pieces into her regular wardrobe, Frank and Joe relied on a more formal system of labeled storage boxes containing the building blocks of different personas. So now, while Nancy and George began sifting through Nancy's clothes and jewelry and pulling out anything that lined up with her intended bohemian look, Joe set to work reading the labels on his boxes and occasionally pulling one out for consideration.

"Tell me about where you're going," George prompted, tossing Nancy a crocheted top which would not have looked out of place at Woodstock.

"We are going," said Nancy, inspecting the shirt with a critical eye, "to the former Camp Sunshine, site of a 1970s missing persons case- "

"Right," George put in. "That body they just found."

Nancy nodded and continued. "And current site of Caldwell House Resort and Campgrounds."

George whistled. "From hippie to pretentious? I'm not sure that's an improvement."

"They've put a lot of work into changing the place's image," Nancy agreed. "The new owner bought the adjoining property, a historic mansion, and refurbished it as a bed and breakfast. I suppose that's the resort part," she said thoughtfully, glancing at Joe for confirmation.

"There's a dining room, a stable, a pool, I think we saw a gym on the website," he said. "That's the resort side. Then there's the campground, which has cabins or campsites to rent, firepits, a picnic area, a lake...hey, don't roll your eyes at me, Fayne. I know I sound like a brochure right now."

"It's not that," George said, smirking. "I just can't take you seriously while you're dressed like a low-budget Crocodile Dundee."

"Damn. I was going for Indiana Jones."

Nancy picked up a pair of sandals. "Anyway," she said, "they've been dealing with some vandalism and petty theft on the campground side of things."

"And they want us to put a stop to it before it escalates and draws bad press," Joe concluded. "Nan also thinks there might be some connection to the missing girls."

"Yeah, that figures. But you're not convinced," George guessed.

"I'm keeping an open mind."

"My money's on a disgruntled employee," Frank said, walking into the room unexpectedly. He laughed at the surprised looks on everyone's faces. "Two private detectives and a former soldier, and none of you heard me coming? You're losing your edge."

Nancy shook her head, refusing to be baited. "Hi, Frank."

"Hi." He flicked the hat off his brother's head. "You're not going as Indy. It's not a costume party and anyway, I'd make a terrible Short Round."

Joe collected the hat, looking triumphant. "Ha. Low-budget Crocodile Dundee, my ass!"

Ignoring the friendly bickering which ensued between George and Joe, Nancy looked at Frank. "I've been thinking about our story," she told him, "and I think siblings might be a good cover."

Frank made a wry face.

"What's wrong?" Nancy asked.

"Can you and Joe pull off a brother-sister vibe? You're very...physical."

"You're right," Nancy said, with exaggerated surprise. "I should have remembered that we can't control ourselves at all, ever. We're actually having sex right now. It's all we do, really."

Frank had the good grace to look apologetic. "I don't have a problem with your relationship. I only meant that the last thing we need is to inspire incest-based gossip."

"I understand your concerns," Nancy said carefully, trying to suppress her annoyance. "I'm sorry, Frank. I shouldn't have reacted that way. But honestly, when have you ever known me or Joe to be anything less than professional?"

"I trust you, but I have to think realistically."

"Realistically," Nancy repeated, giving the word just a touch of emphasis, "we need to know each other well enough to share a cabin, and the easiest way to handle that would be to go as siblings."

"What about cousins?" Joe suggested suddenly. Nancy looked his way, as did Frank, and the tension between them evaporated.

"Do I absolutely have to be related to him?" Frank quipped, laughing.

Nancy stepped forward and adjusted the flower Joe had clipped into his hair before letting her gaze travel down his body. He was wearing a bustier she had once worn undercover in a strip club, a sequined hip scarf over his jeans, and a pair of beat-up cowboy boots.

"I told him it's the wrong cup size," George joked.

"Yeah, that's the only problem with this outfit," Frank retorted. "Get serious, Joe."

"I am serious. Cousins," he said.

"I like it," Nancy said. "The idea, not the lingerie."

She turned back toward Frank, who nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Cousins it is."

"Now," said George, briskly. "Who wants to explain the chain mail shirt hanging in the closet?"

Both Hardys' faces lit up.

"I wondered where that ended up!" Frank said eagerly.

After that, it was smooth sailing. Frank admired their new tattoos, both permanent and temporary, but declined any temporary body art of his own. He and Joe settled down to their packing, as did Nancy and George. It was not long before Nancy was zipping up her suitcase and George was stretching and fidgeting in a way that meant she was ready to leave.

"Thanks for the help," Nancy told her, placing her suitcase beside the door. "I couldn't have finished so quickly without you."

"No problem." George shoved her hands into her pockets and hesitated a moment. "I'm thinking of delaying my studio re-opening," she confessed.

"Is it not ready? Do you need help?" Nancy asked.

George shook her head. "No, the place is good to go, but somebody's got to be around to babysit Bess."

Nancy's conscience prickled uncomfortably. "Maybe I should tell the boys to go ahead and leave me behind," she said. "I can help take care of her."

"Nance. I've got this. Text me further instructions for the Tom investigation, okay? I'm happy to do the legwork on that one while you go snooping around Snooty House Resort."

Nancy smiled. "Will do. Thanks again, George."

George waved this aside. "Be safe. Talk soon."

With that, she was gone.

 _I'd better go, too_ , Nancy realized. _Hannah will be expecting me._

In the spare room, Frank was methodically replacing boxes into the closet while Joe folded shirts. He had replaced the bustier with a leather jacket, worn to a soft patina and devoid of any insignia.

"Going to Hannah's?" he said, looking up at Nancy. "Tell her I said hi."

She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. "I'll tell her," she said, breathing in the faint smell of leather and cigarette smoke which clung to the jacket- a scent which belonged to a version of Joe she had known years ago, and which was at once familiar and strange. His kiss, at least, was wholly and reassuringly familiar.

"I'm taking the bike over to Swift & Morton soon," he reminded her. "I'll probably be back around the same time you are."

Nancy nodded again. "Okay. See you later, then. And I'll see you tomorrow, Frank."

The dark-haired man looked up from the box he was re-packing long enough to give her a wave and an automatic "Drive safe."

"Of course," Nancy promised.

It was the work of a moment to collect her phone and purse; and then, like George before her, she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Lunch, and a Confession

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

Though Hannah Gruen had recently moved out of the Drew home and into a house of her own, Nancy usually still felt as though she were coming home when she entered Hannah's kitchen. There was something welcoming, something healing, about the place, as though the room reflected the nurturing spirit of its owner.

Today, however, as Nancy stood in the kitchen doorway, she detected a distinct element of suspicion in Hannah's welcome.

"It's not real," she said hastily, raising her arm for her surrogate mother to inspect. "I wouldn't broadside you like that. It's just an accessory for a case we're taking on."

"Hmph," Hannah remarked. But then she added, in a conceding sort of way, "It's pretty enough, I suppose. Come in and tell me about it while I clear the table."

"Don't you mean set the table?" Nancy asked, following her inside.

"No, I mean clear it. I'm afraid I lost track of time and left my knitting cluttering the place."

"Are these the things you've been working on for Callie?" Nancy said, hurrying over to inspect them. She lifted what looked like an impossibly small sweater from the basket. "Oh, Hannah, this is exquisite."

Hannah looked pleased; but, in the self-deprecating manner of all craftspeople, shook her head. "I'm not sure about those buttons. I might try a different set."

"I think they're perfect," Nancy declared. "Miles Hardy is going to be the best-dressed baby in Bayport this winter."

"I hope I made it big enough. Of course it's always a gamble, knitting for a person of unknown size," Hannah said good-naturedly. "How is Callie feeling? She must be almost ready to deliver."

"She seems fine. Impatient, I think," Nancy said, and watched Hannah nod in that sympathetic way all women seemed to nod when discussing pregnancy. Even the childless, Nancy had noticed, responded the same way. She supposed it was not too difficult for any woman to imagine growing weary of sharing her body.

She folded the tiny sweater reverently and handed it to Hannah, who replaced it in her workbasket.

"Maybe someday I'll be knitting for you and Joe," Hannah said, with teasing and yearning mingled in her tone.

"That'll be the day," Nancy said lightly. Her throat felt tight. She turned away and busied herself retrieving plates from the cupboard to relieve the pressure of Hannah's shrewd gaze. "Can you imagine us hauling a baby along on stakeouts? Joe would probably want to outfit her with an infant-sized pair of night vision goggles and a Baby's First Fingerprint Dusting Kit."

Whether she took Nancy's joking at face value or was simply being kind, Hannah let the matter drop. As the two women sat down to share their meal, the conversation turned to lighter things; and Nancy was grateful. It was both comforting and comfortable to sit at Hannah's table and discuss nothing of great importance- to hear the latest gossip from Hannah's sewing group and discuss her neighbor's ongoing home renovations, to talk about Nancy's shopping trip and refer to the store in question as 'Turtles' rather than 'Tuttle's' because that was what toddler-Nancy had christened it long ago, to chat about George's move and Carson's vacation and Nancy's new case.

But the reprieve did not last forever. Eventually, Hannah poured herself a fresh glass of lemonade and leveled her gaze at Nancy.

"Forgive me for prying, dear, but you've seemed burdened lately. Would you like to talk about it?"

Her last bite of bread seemed to stick in Nancy's throat. She swallowed hard and forced her voice to come out calmly.

"I haven't been sleeping well. That's all. It's that dream again."

"Are you sure that's all?"

Nancy kept her eyes fixed on her hands, watching herself slip her mother's claddagh ring up one finger and down another. Proximal, middle, and distal phalanges, up and back again.

She intended to hold her tongue. She intended to look up and smile reassuringly and change the subject. But here and now, in the safe haven of Hannah's kitchen, her overburdened heart seized its chance to be vulnerable.

"I went to the gynecologist in June," she heard herself saying.

She felt more than heard Hannah's swift intake of breath.

"Nancy?" Hannah said tremulously.

Nancy shook her head quickly, cutting off the question she knew was about to follow. There were tears prickling at the backs of her eyes, now. Her ring was a blur, her hands were a blur, her whole damn future was a blur.

"I'm not pregnant," she said. "It's not that."

She hesitated again, swallowing back the rising tears; and then, when Hannah very wisely said nothing, Nancy found herself filling the silence, spilling and surrendering the pain she had kept to herself all summer long.

"You know I've always had an irregular cycle," she said. She waited for Hannah's nod, and went on. "Well, I went in for my annual checkup, and they decided to do some extra tests to determine why that is."

"But Dr. McKenna never thought it was a problem before," Hannah objected. "And she's known you since- well, since before you were born."

Nancy nodded. "I know. That's why I never questioned her. But she retired this past spring- "

"Oh, I didn't know that," Hannah clucked.

" - and her replacement disagreed with her opinion." Which was putting it mildly, Nancy thought. She vividly remembered the way Dr. Hallam had frowned at her chart- remembered the chill of the air conditioning through her paper gown, the crinkle of paper on the exam table, the furrow between the doctor's brows as he read out "Oligomenorrhea resultant from intermittent work-related physical stress" under his breath, the noncommital "hm" noise which he had made as he lowered the chart and looked at her.

"All right. What did they find?" Hannah asked, getting straight to the point.

"Scar tissue blocking my Fallopian tubes," Nancy said, equally straight-forward. "It probably wasn't my fault," she added, since that was something every medical professional she had spoken with had seemed compelled to assure her. "It probably happened years ago, when I was so sick after my appendix burst. It probably wasn't anything that happened on a case. And it's not a complete blockage. There's still a small chance- " She broke off. Swallowed again. "Anyway, what it comes down to is that you shouldn't bother picking out any baby patterns for me."

"Forgive me, Nancy. I ought not to have teased you about that, earlier."

Nancy shook her head. "It's all right."

There was another brief silence. Nancy's eyes dropped to her ring again.

"That's not all," she confessed, running her thumb over the little silver crown and heart."I've been...no, I still am. I'm being terribly selfish, Hannah."

" 'Selfish' isn't a word I associate with you," Hannah said tenderly.

"It's true, though," Nancy insisted. "I know Joe wants babies. His whole face lights up when Callie lets him feel her baby kicking. And my body probably can't give him that." There it was again, that damned probably. Nancy sniffed. "I love him too much to hold him back from the future he wants. Or I thought I did, anyway. But it's been months, now, and I can't bring myself to let go of him, and- "

"Nancy," Hannah interrupted. "Oh, you poor lamb. Heaven knows there is more than one way to build a family. Why don't you try talking to the boy before you let some misguided sense of nobility uproot a thriving relationship?"

"In other words, be honest with him and give him the benefit of the doubt?" Nancy said, laughing suddenly through a fresh wave of tears. It was her advice to George, come home to roost.

"I don't see why that should be funny," Hannah remarked.

"I just finished telling George the same thing," Nancy said ruefully. "And now that I'm in George's shoes, I can see that it isn't that easy. If I talk to him, Hannah...if I tell him, that makes it real."

"From where I sit, the facts are the facts whether you speak them or not."

"I know." She sniffed. "I thought I had all the luck, before this. I really thought I was going to have it all. Joe, and our work, and someday a family. Now I just feel broken."

In typical Hannah fashion the older woman now left her seat and came around the table to pull Nancy into her arms.

"You're still going to have it all, sweetheart. The Nancy I know does not give up on her dreams."

"Don't," Nancy said helplessly. "I'll cry."

"Then cry, darling. I'm here," Hannah said, rubbing gentle circles on Nancy's back.

It dawned on Nancy, as she nestled into Hannah's arms, that Hannah had never borne any children of her own- that Hannah, herself, must be intimately acquainted with this particular flavor of heartache. And she saw the confirmation in Hannah's eyes when the embrace finally ended: sorrow and empathy and support, flowing from one woman whose body had betrayed her to another.

Nancy had expected the truth, once confessed, to hover malevolently overhead like a putrid cloud, casting a pall over everything which followed; but instead she found that the air felt clearer and her heart lighter. The afternoon ended with coffee and pie, laughter and tears, and a sense that the already-deep bond between the two women had grown even stronger that day.


End file.
